Of Grief and Guilt
by Maya Perez
Summary: Jess is dead. Sam's normal life is now over. Will he be able to deal with the aftermath? Week between the pilot and episode 1.2
1. Chapter 1

Of Grief and Guilt

By Maya Perez

Something warm and wet landed on his face making him flinch. As Sam tried to figure out what it could be, he felt another. He opened his eyes and looked up. For a moment, his mind couldn't process what he saw. He was sure he must be hallucinating or maybe dreaming. There was a woman on his ceiling. Her arms and legs were akimbo, her blonde hair spread like a fan around her head. A red line cut across her abdomen and the silky nightgown she wore. Her face was a grimace of fear and shock.

His eyes grew wide, his mind finally admitting he was really seeing this. Horror shot through him as he also recognized who the woman was – his love, Jessica. "No!"

Hungry flames shot out from behind his girlfriend's body and filled the ceiling. Sam backpedaled on the bed, the heat of the branching fire washing down over him as denial, fear and terror suffused him from the inside. Sweat formed on his skin and was vaporized by the intense temperatures before it could fully manifest. "Jess!"

Her body was totally engulfed in flames. He couldn't look away. This wasn't possible! "No. No!"

Hands grabbed Sam and yanked him off the bed and he's only peripherally aware it was his brother Dean. All he could think about was Jess on the ceiling, burning. He had to get to her, he had to find a way to save her!

"We've gotta get out of here!" Dean bodily put himself between Sam and the flames.

Sam resisted as Dean pushed him toward the open doorway. He couldn't see Jessica anymore. All he could see was the blaze. The heat intensified as it continued to roll over them, the fire eagerly reaching in their direction. "Jess! _No_!"

------

Gasping, Sam sat up snapping out of the nightmare's grip. He greedily swallowed great clumps of air, his chest tight. Then it hit him like a dead weight, the one fact he couldn't escape, not even when awake – Jess was dead.

What little food he'd been able to force down earlier turned sour in his stomach. His lover was gone. _Jess was dead_. Bile rose up in a gush in his throat. Sam clamped his hand over his mouth as he stumbled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

He fell to his knees inside, his legs throbbing from the impact. As his stomach rebelled again, he leaned over the bowl to let the torrent go. Hot liquid gushed past his lips.

Jessica was dead, dead, _dead_.

An acrid stench attacked his nostrils as the vomit hit the water, the residue left inside him burning his throat. His stomach clenched again hard, sending another stream after the first.

It was only supposed to have been a nightmare -- remnants of his old life coming back to haunt him again. He'd graduated, passed his LSAT's, had an interview lined up for law school. Everything had been going exactly where it should. The dreams were supposed to have been manifestations of his nervousness, of stress, images of the fear he'd lived with day in and day out when he'd been part of that life, the hunter's life.

So he'd done nothing. He'd never even told her what he dreamed, striving to keep the damned Winchester family secret. He'd followed the rules that had been pounded into his consciousness since before he could walk. He'd left her totally unprepared and unwarned.

Hard painful heaves bent him over the bowl again, his neck muscles taught.

Jess had been worried about him and yet she let him go, believing him at his word and half explanations when he'd left her over two days ago to look for his father. She'd been vibrant and alive then. Until he returned and his nightmare came true and took her life!

His hands clenched over the toilet's rim until the knuckles turned white. He felt hot and cold, flashing from one to the other in quick succession.

The thing that had done it… The thing that had so callously killed her, it came from his old life, the one he thought he left behind forever. His father was right, people weren't safe anywhere. The dark things in the night could reach out and destroy anything they wanted at anytime -- all his fears had been proven horribly true in the cruelest of ways. And somehow Sam had known it was coming and he did absolutely nothing to keep it from happening – _absolutely nothing_.

His stomach clenched again, forcing him to lean once more over the bowl's rim, sacrificing whatever else he might have left inside him. The only thing remaining being the fact Jess was dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Dean slowly sat up in bed, listening intently as his brother threw up in the bathroom. He glanced at the clock and saw it was a little after five in the morning. Sam had only gotten a couple of hours of sleep.

Dean wanted to get up and rush over there. He wanted to ask Sammy if he was all right, if there was anything he could do, but despite the needful impulse he didn't move. His brother was far from all right and there was nothing Dean could do about it.

Never had he expected things to turn out this way.

Though he'd not been happy about it, he'd dropped Sammy off at his place once the business at Jericho was over. This way his brother could go home, get some sleep, and make his 'important' appointment, though all Dean wanted at the time was to drag him away with him. It'd been some consolation that Sam left the door open for them maybe meeting up again. It had given Dean hope that though his brother wasn't going with him to look for their Dad, that perhaps he was willing to give them a chance to start interacting again. Maybe for keeps this time.

He was driving away when he'd looked at his watch and noted the date of November second. Seeing that hated date at that time sent such a shiver of total, utter dread through his blood he'd immediately turned the car around and gone back. Whether it made sense or not, he always listened to his instincts. And last night they'd been screaming.

By the time he broke back into the apartment, it was too late. The terrible scene from twenty-two years ago was being replayed once more in Sam's bedroom. His girlfriend Jessica was pinned to the ceiling and on fire. Sammy was on the bed staring up at her in terror and denial, the fiery mess about to come down on top of his head and take him too.

By the time Dean was able to drag Sam out of the building sirens could already be heard coming down the street. Sammy had shrugged him off like an old coat when they got to the front yard, his gaze locking on the flames glowing through the windows of his bedroom. Dean saw the grief bleed off Sam's face as he watched them, the light from the blaze creating a moving ghoulish mask over his features. The fire reflected in Sam's eyes as his expression closed up. His growing anger twisted his features, the horror, pain and loss of what had happened shoved behind it where no one could see.

Just remembering the look squeezed something inside him. It was too much like the mask their father wore.

Dean ran his hand through his sleep tussled hair.

That hadn't been the worst of it though. That had come a minute or so later, after Sam left him there, to dart like a wraith from shadow to shadow to look for any trace of what had done this. For as the adrenaline rush waned and he found he could think again, Dean realized several things, things that sent goose bumps and fear driving through him in a cold spike. Jessica had been killed in the same exact same way as Mom. He'd been there back then, not in the room, but he knew what it looked and felt like, and it was the same. Even now he didn't know if Sammy realized this or not and he was too afraid to ask in case he hadn't. He was sure his brother was hanging on by a thread and he didn't want to be the one to cut it.

Problem was it was worse than Jessica just dying the same way. She'd died on the same _day_. In the same _place_ -- front, right corner second story bedroom, one belonging to his brother. Worse, Sam had been a witness to both deaths. Dean was even the one who took Sammy out of the house before, same as this time. The only thing missing from twenty-two years ago was their father.

Dean's instincts shrieked that what happened last night was more than coincidence – it felt like a reenactment. But what kind of creature would go to such lengths? And why?

Though their father had done nothing but spend every possible moment trying to get information on what had killed Mom, they were no closer to knowing what had done it now than they'd been then. It was in no danger from them as far as he knew. So why had it decided to come back again…? Why do this to Sammy?

The light in the bathroom came on, the door shutting quietly a moment later. Dean heard the toilet flush through the paper-thin walls, then heard the tap turned on at the sink. It ran for a long time. Dean just sat there, unmoving, trying not to think, only listening.

Eventually the tap was turned off. The door to the bathroom opened but the light was left on. Dean watched Sam come out and use the falling swath of brightness to grab his only set of clothes from where he'd folded them on the dresser before crashing for the night.

"Going somewhere, Sammy?"

His brother turned around with a start. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were up." His gaze wouldn't meet Dean's. He turned his back to him and started to dress.

Dean draped his arms over his knees, trying to look casual though he felt anything but. "You didn't answer my question."

Sam hesitated so long, Dean wasn't sure he would answer. "I'm going back to the apartment. I want to look through the wreckage before the site is compromised." Sam yanked his t-shirt down harder than necessary. "Dad didn't know what to look for back then, but I do now."

Dean flinched. Looked like Sammy had connected the dots after all. He got up off the bed, stretching taught muscles. "I'll come with."

Sam finally glanced at him, a sour look on his face. "You don't have to do that."

"We've got work to do, remember? We're a team. Where you go, I go." Dean walked to the dresser to get some clothes, scarfing up the cars keys on the way. "Besides, I never gave you permission to drive my car."

Sam gave him a half disgusted huff. "Right…"

It wasn't much of a response, but at least it was something. And Dean would definitely take whatever he could get.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It was past six when the Impala pulled over to the curve in from of the apartment building, the sun just peeking over the horizon.

Sam stared at the right corner upstairs. In the half-light, you couldn't really tell there'd been a fire inside not so many hours before. You could almost pretend nothing had ever happened.

He rubbed sweating palms against his jeans before moving to open the car door.

The air felt brisk and cold, swirling past the door to embrace him as he stepped out. Halloween decorations still lingered around the neighborhood, adding to the gloom of the early hour, which only served to make every thing look lifeless and still.

Sam swallowed hard making sure not to look his brother's way as he moved to cross the street, positive Dean was watching him. He followed the drive to the sunken steps and the gated entrance on the side of the apartment building and went inside. Warmth waited there, but he didn't feel it. He felt cold within and without.

He rose up the steps of the thick wooden stairs dread building inside him. He wasn't sure if it was tied to the fact he would be seeing his home empty, violated by fire, or because he wouldn't be able to find anything to help him figure out who had murdered his love.

Dean's steps echoed behind his, but for once his brother was thankfully quiet. He hadn't said much either in the car. Or if he had, Sam hadn't been paying attention and never heard him, his thoughts elsewhere.

He walked down the small hallway to the chartreuse apartment door, and felt like a condemned man walking the green mile. The normalcy he saw out here would end the moment he got to that door. Any chance of running and denying what had happened to Jess would be gone. He'd have no choice but to face the consequences of his inaction. He still felt cold and reticent but walked on.

The yellow crime scene tape plastered over the door glared accusingly at him. He was shocked by it, though he should have expected it. Until the police and fire department were through with their investigations, the whole place would be considered a possible location of arson if not murder. Sam knew it was both.

They'd even placed one of the stickers that went between the doorframe and the door to let them know if the site was breached. They couldn't go in this way.

Sam turned hearing the telltale sound of a knife being flicked open.

With a half grin, Dean slipped the open blade into the slit between the frames of the window beside the door. In less than a minute, he'd flipped the window lock open. Saying nothing, he nodded then stepped back out of the way.

Sam faced the window then forced himself to push the bottom pane up. The stench of smoke wafted out into the hall. Reaching inside, he pulled down on the shade on the other side then let it go so it flipped up to the top.

He scanned the dark room not yet trying to slip inside. His brother was a solid presence behind him, and though Sam towered three inches over him and was most likely cutting off most of his view into the room, Dean nevertheless remained silent and still as if he had all the time in the world.

Sam sighed, letting his breath out slowly, before he grabbed the top of the window frame and slipped his long legs inside. Crouching down to get the rest of himself in, he then reached over to the right and switched on the lights.

Trickles of water covered the wood flooring, escapees from another part of the apartment. The bicycles peeking from the corner, the boxes, the knickknack and the books were all in their places, the water and the smell the only things outside the norm.

He took a step away from the window. Sam shivered where he stood, feeling like an intruder in his own home, his current anxiousness a far cry from the elation he'd felt when he and Jessica had officially dubbed this their place a little over a year ago. Memories flooded in unbidden of different times when the two of them had been together in this room – lugging boxes when they moved in, fighting with the oversized Christmas tree to get it inside the apartment, running to catch her and nuzzling her neck with kisses. Things that would never be again.

It was suddenly hard to breathe.

"That's your duffel right?"

Sam glanced behind him, grateful for the distraction. Dean had slipped inside and was pointing to Sam's bag where he'd dropped it off inside the doorway when he got home the night before thinking he would take care of it later – before his life had been turned end over end. "Yeah." With a twinge, he realized the duffle contained the only clothes he probably had left. Everything else had been in the bedroom... with the fire.

Dean grabbed the bag and held it back out the window before setting it in the hall. "Figure we should take it with us when we go."

Sam nodded, not really caring one way or the other. He headed toward the narrow door and the hallway which led to the rooms in the back. His sneakers splashed into a big puddle of water on the other side. The reek of smoke seemed to grow exponentially with a nose curdling undercoating of burnt wood. Watermarks scarred the walls and grew larger the deeper the hall went.

A charred maw was all that was left of the bedroom's doorway. Dark fingers grew on that side of the hall, showing where the fire's hungry tendrils had been reaching out for more food to consume before being snuffed out.

Sam felt the cold inside him turn him numb. As if he had no control over his own body, he stepped forward to stand in the destroyed opening.

His bedroom was gone. All that remained was a black, fire gutted ruin. Gone was Jessica's work area filled with paints, sketches, and partially completed paintings. Gone were the bed, the dresser, his books, the shelves, and the plants, everything that defined who they were in this room. Only charred lumps of melted plastic, ash, and fire eaten wood were left to show what had been. And above him there was nothing, the ceiling and what had been left of his lover collapsed to the ground.

Sam swayed where he stood. Everything was gone. His world was gone. Jess was gone. It was as if none of it had ever existed.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dean shuffled uneasily against the wall, his gaze rooted to what he could see of his brother's face. Sam looked horribly pale. For a long moment his raw pain had shone out for anyone to see but then was quickly hidden behind a blank mask. Dean didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Four years ago he would have known exactly what Sammy was thinking. But not anymore. There were too many years between them, too many changes. And it _hurt_. They would have never ended up like strangers if he'd had a choice.

He took a step back, looking away, knowing there was nothing he could do for Sam right then and hating it. His only option was to search the rest of the place and see if there were any clues to be found. If he were lucky, he'd be able to find something for his brother to hold onto.

He went back to the first room then turned to go through the double doors on the right, but stopped as his gaze fell on a familiar picture. He picked it up staring at the faces of his father and mother during much happier times. He'd given the picture to Sammy without their father's consent when the great falling out happened -- when all their paths had gone off in different directions. Had it reminded Sammy of home like he'd meant it to? Had it kept his family in his heart?

Dean folded the back of the picture frame and reached out the open window to slip it inside Sam's waiting duffle outside.

Once he was done, he sent a glance in the direction of the small hallway and could see that Sam hadn't moved – a forlorn statue amidst the silence. Dean went on to the doubles doors.

They opened into the room where he and Sam were first reunited, after a slight tussle that put first one then the other of them on the floor. How good it had felt to see him. How wonderful it had been to hear his voice again, to be near him once more.

Dean knew what it felt like to lose someone. He'd lost Mom and years later Sammy. His brother hadn't died, but at the time it'd made no difference as cut off from him as he'd become. Then Dad had up and disappeared as well. After missing Sammy for so long, it had been like a gift. It'd been a reason for him to seek out his brother, something troubling enough Sam wouldn't be able to shirk or argue his way out of -- a way for the two of them to get back together, even if only for a little while. It'd been a means to find out if Sam had been able to work through the issues which had separated them in the first place, to see if he was ready to let his barriers down again, for them to try to be a family like they used to be. Never in his wildest imaginings had he thought it would turn out like this.

Dean stared at the old couch, the second hand lamps, the shelves and shelves of books, his eyes burning. He could so easily imagine how happy Sam had been here surrounded by all this stuff. Looked like he'd become a veritable packrat living like a college boy -- a total luxury they'd never been able to indulge in when growing up, their nomad lifestyle only allowing for so much baggage.

And Jessica. Though Dean had spent less than a couple of minutes with her, it'd been obvious how much his brother meant to her. And it had been more than obvious how much she meant to him. How comfortable he was with her, how open. It had made Dean a little jealous, if truth be told. Not that he'd begrudge his brother that kind of happiness, not ever.

But now it was destroyed.

This wasn't the way he'd wanted his brother back. This wasn't a price he'd wanted Sam to pay. Yet would Sammy understand that? Or would he blame Dean as having been somehow part of what happened? Would this, in the end, be the last straw in tearing them apart?

Dean retreated from the room, shaking his head, knowing some thoughts were better left alone.

There was a second doorway next to the hall's, so he strode silently to check it out. It led into the kitchen. Seeing the fridge and stove reminded him he'd not had anything to eat since last night. Sam had pretty much ignored his suggestions about stopping someplace for breakfast or picking up something on the way. His stomach gurgled noisily in complaint at the reminder.

Maybe he could filch some leftovers from the fridge? As he moved to take a look, he spotted a plate on the kitchen table. It was piled with chocolate chip cookies. A piece of paper was flipped upside down beside it, but he paid it no attention. His mouth was already salivating at the thought of wolfing several of them down.

He took a bite of one then shoved the rest of it in his mouth, his tongue thrilling at the lovely flavor. He grabbed another two and shoved them in his jacket pocket as he chewed the first, knowing he'd want more of these later. He put another in his mouth, holding it with his teeth as he took yet another, when he saw a shadow pass on the other side of the beaded doorway leading into the small hall.

The beaded strings flew up in an explosion of movement as Sam suddenly plowed through them into the kitchen straight at Dean. Before he could try to do anything, Sam drove into him pushing Dean all the way back to the far wall, slamming him against it, his forearm pressing hard against Dean's throat. "_Those are not for you!_"

Dean was more startled than hurt, but the manic look in Sam's normally soulful eyes sent spikes of panic through his brain. Moving slowly, he took the cookie out of his mouth. "Dude, I…_I didn't know_." He stared back and forth across his brother's fuming face. He swallowed hard, working hard at ignoring the pressure still pressed against his throat. "_Sammy?_" Dean couldn't help the little boy tone at the last, way too scared by this aspect of his brother, which he had never seen, let alone suspected existed. He was very sure he never wanted to set eyes on it again if he could at all help it. Being the one responsible for putting it there, though, made it even worse.

Sam abruptly closed his eyes, his head drooping. With a shove, he pushed away from Dean, releasing him.

Dean didn't dare move. "Sam?"

His brother half stumbled to the counter and leaned heavily against it. He glanced back in Dean's direction but didn't look directly toward him. Tears glistened in his eyes, his expression of mixed confusion and pain making him look like a kicked puppy. "I, I can't stay here."

"We should go then." Dean still didn't move waiting for cues from his brother before wanting to attempt anything.

Sam looked away, his shoulders straightening, and then made for the kitchen's exit. Dean counted to three before moving to follow. He made sure to stop by the kitchen table long enough to deposit the cookies in his hands and pockets back on the plate, then gave a general shrug of apology to the room at large, just in case Jessica was somehow watching from the beyond.

He spotted Sam by the open window when his brother's cell phone went off. Sam reached into his jacket and pulled it out and stared at it, his face a puzzled blank, as if he thought there were no one to call him anymore. He finally flipped the phone open and put it to his ear. "Hello?"

Dean moved closer the better to eavesdrop.

"Yes…this is…he?" Sam actually sounded unsure on the fact.

Dean could hear a female voice answer from the other end, but couldn't make out the words.

"_Police_?"

Dean raised a brow at the slight tone of alarm in his brother's voice. Surely he'd been expecting a call from them. The investigating officer would have gotten his pertinent information from the school renter records if not his name from a neighbor. Basic procedure would demand they tried getting a hold of any and all tenants in the apartment, especially since the two of them had neglected to let their presence be known about last night.

"No. Yes. I…yes. Maybe. I don't really know…uhm." Sam was floundering. What was going on with him? Dean decided to help him out and took the phone from his unresisting hand. The expression of gratitude and relief on Sam's face was painful to look at.

"Hi, this is Sam's brother, Dean." He put a smile in his tone he didn't feel. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt, but Sammy's not doing so well just now. Can I help you?"

"Yes, sir. My name is Sergeant Morales. I'm assisting with the investigation on a fire that occurred last night." Her slight Spanish accent was rather sexy. Dean wondered if she looked as good as she sounded. She rattled off the address to Sam's apartment.

Dean signaled Sam to go ahead and go outside. His brother looked for a moment like he might argue, but then slumped his shoulders and went.

Dean turned his back on him and lowered his voice.

"Yeah, we know. We got here late last night after the fire was out. My brother's pretty torn up about it. He couldn't get into the apartment since it was sealed off and he hasn't been able to contact his girlfriend, Jessica, who would have been there last night."

"Yes…" Sergeant Morales said, her tone slightly hesitant. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it's believed Miss Jessica Moore is dead. Remains were found in the room, though the fire was so intense there wasn't much left." The sergeant's voice was hushed, but Dean couldn't tell if it was out of sympathy or the fact most house fires don't destroy corpses to that extreme. "The coroner's office has sent out for dental records to try to get a positive ID. The family will then be notified."

"Damn…" It hadn't occurred to him till just then that someone other than Sam would be affected by Jessica's loss. And because of how things stood, her family wouldn't get any answers on why such a catastrophe had fallen on them. They'd be in the same position their father had been in before he'd unearthed at least a little of the truth.

"We'll need both you and your brother to come to the station so we can take your statements. Purely routine you understand. Just to get the facts straight." And fish around to make sure they weren't a couple of murderers too.

"Yeah, we can come down. I, uh, don't know this area very well. Can you give me directions?" He hunted around until he found something he could write on and took them down as she recited the instructions to him and then hung up.

As he slipped through the window, he found Sam down the hall at the beginning of the stairs, his duffle slung over his shoulder -- his expression a controlled neutral.

Dean closed the aperture then went on over. "We'll need to make a stop. The police want to take our statements." He saw no change in his brother's expression. "It's better to take care of it now rather than later."

Sam nodded but said nothing. Taking that as an assent, Dean went around him and started down the stairs. He figured he'd coach his brother with what to say in the car. The way his mind seemed to be working, or more properly, not working, it'd probably be good to feed him what to say.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Sam didn't remember much of what happened after they left the police station the day before. He did recall feeling beaten and weighed down. Also that he'd somehow stumbled through the sergeant's slew of questions and survived. It hadn't hurt that Dean kept distracting her with flirting comments and his oozing charm, giving Sam time to make his brain fire long enough to give his answers. Thinking shouldn't have been this hard. Had never been this hard…

The questions had been generic. Nothing accusing. But he'd expected them to be. Halfway wanted them to be. He'd had to fight not to volunteer information the police didn't need and more his brother wouldn't want him to tell. But after that, the rest of the day was but a blur.

He remembered trying to do research, trying to find answers. But if he actually got anywhere, he couldn't recall. He knew Dean had been with him throughout, but if they spoke or made plans, he could remember none of it. It was as if he were somehow disconnected from everything. To do anything required more effort than normal, and he just didn't care to give it.

Heck, he didn't even remember going to bed. Only waking, hours later, screams scrambling up his throat, the fact Jessica was dead and gone pounded into his consciousness with horrid brutality yet again.

Dawn and brain function had found him sitting in a chair staring out the window past the motel's red, green, and brown curtains though he never saw a thing. And he'd not found the energy to move from the spot for hours afterwards.

"Come on, we're going shopping." Dean smacked him on the shoulder as he walked past, making Sam look up.

"What? Why?"

Dean threw a backward glance in his direction. "Hello? Clothes? Unless you want to wear the same stuff for the rest of your life?"

Sam stared down at himself, at the shirt and jeans he'd worn at least twice in the last few days and felt suddenly stupid. Thinking really was hard.

"Food would be nice too," Dean added. "I've been starving for hours."

Sam's face grew hot, the mention of food bringing back to him the look of shocked surprise on Dean's face the day before as he'd attacked him for grabbing a cookie. His brain might not be functioning quite right today, but back then it hadn't been working _at all_.

He got up off the chair and followed his brother to the Impala outside without another word.

The road blurred outside the window and so did everything else. The passage of time meant nothing, it was all just one long moment of endless numbness. So when his door opened next to him, Sam yanked away surprised.

"Uh, dude, you getting out or what?" Dean was half grinning at him, but his eyes were crinkled with badly disguised worry.

"Sorry." Sam flexed his overtly tight shoulders and slid out, not looking at him. It was disorienting, not having noticed the car come to a stop. Or the fact his brother had gotten out of the car. Was this how he could expect to be the rest of his life?

As he straightened, he realized Dean hadn't taken him to a local thrift store as he'd expected but to the Stanford Shopping Center. It was an open air mall with manicured trees, potted flowers, arches, sculptures, and enough stores to hold something for everyone – as well as the crowds to match.

Like a hunting cat scenting prey, Dean dragged him straight to the food court. Leaving Sam to hold a table, he strolled off and came back in a few minutes with bags full of tacos, burritos, and other Mexican fast food. He shoved half Sam's way then was stuffing his face as if he thought the food were going to make a run for it.

"Afferen't yoou goigng to beat?" Taco shell crumbs fell to the table as Dean glanced up at him, his mouth full.

The sight of all that meat, shell and beans crushed to paste in his brother's mouth would have normally driven away Sam's appetite, except this time he didn't have any to lose. If anything, the smell of the food was making him a little ill. "No. I'm fine."

"Bbut, yoous got tot beat."

Sam turned his chair away from the table. "I'm _fine_."

"Shuute youselfe." Exaggerated crunching sounds emanated from behind him. Sam couldn't stifle a half exasperated sigh. There were some things about his brother he'd not missed at all.

Time trudged on. Sam was staring at the mall goers without actually seeing them, appearing to him like snow on a television screen, when a hand clamped on his arm.

"Shopping time." Dean stood at his elbow. "Come on."

Sam got up and let his brother drag him where he would. He didn't even bother to look at the name of the department store as they went inside. Parking Sam in front of a set of racks, Dean started pulling shirts and holding them up against Sam's chest. Sam didn't pay any attention, not really caring what they bought, only wanting to get it over with.

Unbidden memories came of many other such expeditions, it having been Dean's job to keep Sam in clothes when they'd been younger, especially through his unexpected growth spurts during his teens. It would have seemed ludicrous and possibly embarrassing that his brother was doing this for him now if he'd actually cared about it one way or the other.

By the time Dean was done, Sam was carrying an armful of clothes.

"Okay, let's go find you a suit."

"What?" Sam pulled back, coming to a stop.

"You're going to need one, right? For Jessica's funeral?"

The words froze him where he stood. A funeral…of course… Jessica deserved one, yes. But they'd never talked about that. Didn't have anything set aside for it. He didn't even know where she'd like to be buried. How could it not have occurred to him to realize all this before? Then a stab of cold shot through him almost making him drop the clothes on the floor. He wasn't married to her. The decisions for what would or wouldn't be done wouldn't be up to him, but to her parents. Her parents! Had the police even told them yet? He should call. Offer to help. But he had no money. This would drain their resources, put them under a strain both emotionally and financially, and he wouldn't be able to help with either one. Their only daughter was gone, and he hadn't protected her, he hadn't kept her safe, and he couldn't even do the simplest things for them now that she was gone.

"Sammy?"

"Here." He dumped the clothes on Dean, not really watching to see whether his brother caught them or not. "I have to, I have to make a call. Buy whatever suit you want. It'll be fine. I gotta go."

"_Sam_?"

He ignored the open faced confusion and plea for an explanation, and walked out of the store, leaving his brother behind. Finding a bench at a semi isolated spot, he pulled out his cell phone. He scrolled through the contacts until he found the number he needed, but didn't hit send. How in the world was he supposed to tell Mr. and Mrs. Moore their daughter was dead?

He forced himself to press the button.

Waiting for the ring on the other end seemed to take a lifetime. He remembered only one other phone call that had felt this hard to make – and that had been only two years ago. He hardly dared breathe when the line was eventually picked up on the other end.

"Hello?"

Was that Jessica's father? The voice sounded deflated and strange. "This is, this is Sam Winchester…"

"Sam! Thank goodness. We weren't sure if you were all right. When the police called, they only had, they only had…"

Sam flinched, only too clearly hearing the restrained pain on the other end of the line.

"Sir, I'm alright." Guilty pangs stabbed through him. "I wasn't there when it happened. I'm so sorry." She was dead because of him. She was dead because he didn't warn her, because he wasn't there to try and save her. She was dead because she knew him. It was all because of him. "_I am so sorry_."

"My little girl…." Sudden muffled sounds came across the earpiece.

Sam barely dared breathe, his hand trying to cramp from holding the phone so tight. He had done this; their grief was his doing. This was all his fault.

He hung on the line, saying nothing, his eyes burning, self-loathing rising to scorch him like acid.

"Mr. Moore…how can I…help? Is there anything I can do? Anything at all?" As if any gesture he might carry out would absolve him of anything.

There were subdued sounds on the other end. "…Laura's sister, Myra, lives in Palo Alto. I called her earlier. She's, she's looking into things for us. We're thinking of having her interred there." Sam heard a hitch of breath on the other end. "We don't, we don't think we'll want to remain out here, now that…things have changed. Laura is going to need some support. And I want Jessica close by. So…"

"Okay…" The disappointment of not being able to do anything, no matter how trivial, punched him hard in the gut.

"I'll keep your number. Let you know as soon as any plans are put together. We'll want you there, Sam. Need you there. I'd never seen her so happy as when she was with you. This is just so…"

"Yes. I know." His throat grew tight. "Thank you."

Sam pulled the phone away from his ear and snapped it closed.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Dean wondered if they could have possibly put the few items he'd bought into any more bags. And did they have to be so blasted big and colorful? He felt like some preppy dork or one of those cartoon husbands piled down with bags when their wife dragged them off on a shopping spree using them purely as a luggage tray.

With all the hot college chicks around, it just wasn't manly to be walking around carrying these things. Pink was way much more Sam's color, he should be the one hefting these things. And speaking of his little brother…

Dean scanned the open hallway looking for any signs of Sammy. Not seeing hide nor hair of him, he went to the right. It probably wasn't the best time for his brother to be left alone for too long.

After a few minutes moving at a brisk pace down the tiled way, he finally spotted Sam on a bench, behind some manicured bushes. His brother was hunched forward, forearms over his knees, head hung low. Whatever call it was he'd felt the need to make so badly obviously didn't go well. There had to be a way to knock him out of it.

Sam didn't seem to be the least bit aware of his presence even when he stopped right next to him. He'd been doing that a lot the last few days. Could get him killed.

"Sammy!"

His brother's head snapped up at his barked name.

Before he could do more than look, Dean dumped the bright colored bags on him.

"Dean! What the _hell_?" Sam juggled the bags around to keep a couple of them from falling to the floor and spilling their contents everywhere.

"Just returning the favor, college boy." Dean gave him his best 'gotcha' grin and added some raised brows for flavor.

The resulting scrunched look and disapproving down turned mouth were a way better alternative than the forlorn, dead expression Sam had been offering before. Though his brother kept his irritation reigned inside like he normally did, Dean did notice he scored high enough on the annoyance meter that it brought a little color back to Sammy's cheeks. Kaching!

"I think we're done here. You ready to go?" Dean grabbed the least colorful of the bags, thinking one wouldn't tarnish his reputation too much.

"Go…" The light just seemed to drain out of Sam's eyes. He shook his head. "Where?"

Dean frowned, having a feeling the two of them weren't exactly on the same wavelength. "Away from this zoo? Back to the motel?"

Sam shook his head again. Dean wasn't sure his brother even heard him. He really didn't look so hot. If anything, he was convinced Sammy appeared worse than when they went in the store in the first place, and he hadn't looked good then. At the moment he seemed beyond worn, and fraying about the edges. The lack of rest and the long last couple of day were taking their toll in spades. This had to stop. But what to do about it? His little brother had always been too uptight for his own good. He needed some loosening up.

Sex was probably out of the question, dead girlfriend and all, so that left only one other option – booze.

"Come on. I'm driving, so I'll be the one to worry about where we go." He grabbed a couple of more bags before taking Sam's arm. The things he put up with for his brother. As if. It was everything he'd desperately wanted back in his life for the last four years. Just not like this – Jessica dead, his brother breaking or broken.

Sam went wherever he led him, clutching his bags almost like security blankets. If one didn't know him, they might think him mentally handicapped. Dean figured that in some ways he probably was at the moment. He just had to make sure it didn't become permanent. He liked his brainy, nerdy brother just fine the way he was.

With the bags in the back seat and Sam belted in at the front, Dean got behind the driver's wheel and started up the Impala. He half turned to look behind him, his arm on the back of the bench seat, and backed the car out of the slot. Glancing at Sammy as he turned back around to shift gears, he noticed his brother was slumped down in the seat, his head against the headrest tilted back and facing away from him. Not good.

Dean drove the streets of Palo Alto just above the speed limit, in no real hurry, but wanting to get there pretty quick all the same. As he glanced up and down the tree lined avenues looking for a likely place to stop, it occurred to him that everything this place meant to his brother would sour with what had happened. To Dean this was the town that stole his brother. But not to Sam. Palo Alto and Stanford offered Sammy things his brother didn't think he could get at home, with him and Dad. It was something Dean hadn't ever entirely understood. Family was first in his book, everything else came second. He knew it wasn't that way for everyone, but it didn't make it right.

Yet whatever Sammy had hoped to find here, and maybe had found here, was gone. This place of hope and dreams had become one of loss, death, and pain. Much like how Dean thought of their real home back in Lawrence. The sooner he could get Sammy away from here probably the better, but there were things that needed to get done first --things which couldn't be avoided.

They were close to the motel, somewhere near the school grounds, when Dean finally spotted a bar. Place didn't look like a total dive, but semi-preppy in fact -- dark brick, lots of windows and neon. The type full of froufrou drinks, he was sure. Sammy might even like it.

He got into the turn lane and drove into the parking lot. He slid the Impala into a slot, feeling pretty smug -- until he switched off the car. "We're here."

Sam took one look at the building then sent a pain filled accusing glare in Dean's direction.

"What? I just thought we'd stop and get a drink or two!"

Sammy looked away, the muscle at his jaw dancing. "Not at this one, Dean. _Not at this one_."

Aw, crap. His luck was running like shit as usual.

Dean started the car again and backed up without another word.

He threw a furtive glance or two in his brother's direction as he drove down the next couple of blocks. Sam was staring out the window, totally avoiding looking in his direction. He was no longer slumped, but coiled tighter than a spring. The total opposite of what Dean had meant to do in the first place.

Sighing, he stared ahead and tried to find a gas station. Spotting a 7-11, and hoping to hell it didn't have some kind of blasted emotional tie for his brother too, he pulled in and parked in front of the convenience area. "Be right back."

Dean jumped out of the car and went to the public pay phone outside the store. Luckily, the phone book connected to it was mostly intact, the chain holding it to the wall only looking a little worse for wear. He quickly flipped to the section for bars. Most of the names there he discarded without a second glance, looking too pretty or sounding too high end. The safest sounding place was the Pioneer Saloon on Woodside. Since he'd been batting a thousand already, he didn't figure he could botch it anymore than he already had. Or so he hoped. It was worth a shot.

He noted the street address and used the small map on the front of the book to get a good idea where to head toward. It wasn't real far from the school, just on the other side of 280, but he hoped it would be far enough.

Sam hadn't moved one iota from how Dean left him. He tried not to think about that, as he drove the Impala back out into traffic.

The bar sat on Whiskey Hill at a prominent corner. The building still boasted a frontier town look and feel on the outside, a big swinging sign advertising it out over the road. Though it was early afternoon, the parking lot was already half full. Dean parked the car and waited for any kind of disapproving reaction from Sam. When he got nothing, he dared breathe a little easier.

"Hey, we've arrived. Let's get some drinks and some food. Come on." Not giving his brother a chance to say anything, Dean got out of the car. To hedge his bet, he came around and opened the passenger door, Sam making no move to get out on his own. "Come on, dude."

Sammy glanced up at him for a moment, then gave a long drawn out sigh. He got out of the car. Dean closed the door behind him, giving him an encouraging grin. They walked around to the entrance.

The yellow, orange and red stained glass window with the bar's name was a nice touch over the door, as well as the historical plaque proclaiming the place as a brothel and upscale restaurant from the 1880's to the 1940's. The inside still had an old western appearance with a pervading scent of wood oil, but was definitely modern in what counted. A slightly raised stage with track lighting, mikes, and speakers was set up for live music at one end. Currently, however, Journey's Chain Reaction was playing from hidden speakers in the walls.

Dean steered Sammy to a far booth where they could have some privacy and at the same time keep an eye on the place. His brother slid in, arms on the table, his gaze plastered there as well, a small pervading frown on his face. Dean sat down on the opposite side, hoping this was somehow going to work.

After a couple of minutes a waitress came by, flashing the two of them a friendly smile. "Hello there, gents. What can I get ya?" She slipped a couple of napkins and drink coasters on the table.

Dean gave her a bright smile back, not finding her hard to look at. "Two beers please."

"Whiskey. And bring the bottle."

Dean glanced over at Sam in surprise. His brother never raised his gaze from the table. He didn't even look as if he'd spoken.

"Uhm, so two beers and whiskey? Is that right?" She stared from one to the other.

Sam said nothing.

Dean rushed to fill in the intervening awkward silence. "Yeah, that'll be fine. You have food here too right? Could we see a menu?"

"Sure thing. I'll be right back with those drinks." She gave them another smile, looking a little unsure as her gaze passed over Sam, then went away.

"You sure you want to start out with the hard stuff? You haven't eaten all day."

His brother just sat there as if Dean didn't exist. He didn't like it.

"Sammy?"

The dead look in his eyes as his brother glanced up made Dean wish he hadn't. It was like an antithesis of all that was his brother. Always full of life, emotion, this new Sam was empty, dead, lifeless… Dean couldn't stand to see him looking like that, so he was the one to look away this time.

The waitress returned a few minutes later with drinks and menus and a promise to check back for an order. Sam grabbed the bottle and shot glass, and without a word poured himself a drink and knocked one back. Dean's brow rose. He was impressed. Looked like his little brother had definitely learned a few things while away at college.

Dean looked over the menu, trying to remember the types of things Sammy had ordered over the weekend and anything else he could remember him liking before his college adventure. Surely something in there was bound to entice him.

As he rattled off the order to the returning waitress, Sam poured himself a second shot. Watching him knock it back as well, Dean had a flash of déjà vu. The attitude, the posture, even the dark subdued aura coming from his brother were uncannily like those of their father on those occasions when he was teetering on the edge of the abyss. This wasn't good at all.

Dean grabbed one of the beers and chugged half of it down. The situation frightened him more than a little.

The food came and Dean arranged the plates around Sammy, putting everything within easy reach. He filched a couple of cheese fries for himself, hoping if he was eating it might drive his brother to do the same. The smells alone were making his mouth water and he'd had food earlier. Sam, however, seemed totally immune.

"Dude, eat something. Please?" He scooted forward a piece of double chocolate cake.

Sam shook his head. "Not hungry." He moved to pour another shot.

Dean grabbed the top of the bottle and kept him from moving it. "Then slow down. The booze is not going anywhere."

Sammy's pull on the bottle didn't lessen. His dead stare drove into Dean with relentless force.

Dean let go, fighting the impulse to rub his hands briskly over his arms. "Dammit, Sammy. This isn't good and you know it."

The booze poured into the shot glass and moments later was gone.

Dean brushed the back of his hand against his chin, definitely regretting having brought his brother there. He'd only wanted to loosen Sam up not have him drive himself into a stupor.

He grabbed a few more fries, trying to give himself something to do. Sammy just stared at his glass. Luckily he seemed to slow after his comment, taking ten minutes or more between drinks.

After an hour, the dead look in his eyes had dulled and partially glazed over. When Dean reached over to pull the bottle away, Sam's fingers fell from it without resistance. A frown slowly etched itself in his eyes and mouth but had no real bite.

Dean pulled three twenties from his wallet and slid them on the table, getting up as he did so. He stepped up beside Sam. "We're going to go now, okay, Sammy?"

His brother glanced over at him, the frown growing more pronounced, yet seemingly confused all at once. "Why? Like it here."

"And we can come back again some other time. But now it's time to go." Dean reached for Sam's arm, but his brother jerked it away.

"Can do it. Grown up." The petulant look and tone would have been funny any other time. At the moment though, Dean just hoped it didn't mean Sam was going to give him a hard time.

Sammy got up, swaying a little on his feet. Dean reached out to steady him, only to be shrugged off again. He stayed close, guiding his brother by crowding him in the opposite direction of where he wanted Sam to go.

They eventually made it outside. It took another five minutes to maneuver Sam to the car. By the time he got him inside and belted in, Dean was exhausted. The drive to the Super Motel 8 was silent.

Parking the Impala, Dean got out and unlocked the motel door before coming around to the car's passenger side. "Okay, Sammy, let's get you inside."

A half shrug was the only answer he got. Sam made no move to get out.

Taking a deep breath, Dean reached into the car. "Don't fight me, okay?" Sam didn't but neither did he help. His brother was almost a dead weight in his arms as he pulled him out. The Impala's door was shut with a foot, almost dropping them both to the concrete.

Steering Sam toward the open room door, Dean kept a hold of him as his brother tipped first one way and then the other. They half tripped over each other as Dean struggled to get him to the nearest bed. He yanked the covers back and pushed his brother onto the mattress. Sam went over like a limp doll, eyes half closed, the frown still on his face.

Dean grabbed Sam's right foot and slipped off his shoe before doing the same with the left. Grabbing both legs, he slipped them beneath the sheets then pulled the covers up to his brother's chin. "Go to sleep, Sam."

Dean made to turn away but suddenly found his arm clasped in a double iron grip. He glanced back at his brother in surprise.

Gone were the half glazed eyes and the carved frown. Instead it was his little brother, looking like he had when he was eight, vulnerable, lost and frightened after a particularly nasty nightmare. Dean felt his chest grow tight. Tears glittered in Sammy's eyes. "I…I miss her, Dean. I miss her so much!"

Dean had to struggle to make his throat work enough to talk, tears trying to prickle in his own eyes. "I know you do." He grabbed first one of Sam's hands and then the other, and tucked them under the covers again. "It'll get better. You'll see." At least he hoped so with all his heart as he wiped an errant lock of dark hair away from his brother's forehead. "Now get some sleep, okay?"

Sam nodded, his gaze moving back and forth across Dean's face as if trying to find answers there. A few moments later he closed his eyes.

Dean stood over him, aching as he watched his brother slowly relax, his alcohol numbed mind and body dragged toward sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"It's so tragic."

"I'm so very sorry."

"Sam, it's just awful."

"If you need anything…"

"So horrible."

"Ahhhhh!" Sam snapped the phone closed and threw it across the dresser where it slid across the coated surface until it hit the wall. He slumped into the nearest chair and ran a hand through his hair as he exhaled in aggravation.

"Tense much?" Dean's softly voiced question trickled over from the far side of the room, where he sat on the brown and red bedspread cleaning a couple of their weapons. Sam sighed again having forgotten his brother was there.

The calls had been coming since about eight that morning. It was bad enough his attempt at getting some sleep by drinking himself into a stupor had backfired by bringing even worse nightmares than before, but the constant interruptions and commiserations were about to send him climbing up the walls. It didn't help his patience any that making Dean take him back to the area around the apartment to look for more leads and spending hours skulking the neighborhood had come up empty – not that he'd really expected anything else.

"You could just turn it off."

"No, actually, _I can't_!" He regretted the outburst almost immediately. He knew his brother was only trying to help. "Her parents might call." He slumped down further into the chair.

"Then screen the numbers."

Sam grimaced deigning to ignore Dean's slightly exasperated tone just this once. "I don't know what number they'll be calling from and I don't want to miss their call. Okay?"

He looked up just in time to see Dean give a non-committal shrug. "Then how about some food while we wait?"

"Feel free to go get something without me whenever you want. I'm not hungry." He threw his brother a hard look, daring him to comment.

Dean shrugged again and just kept on with what he was doing. Sam was positive he was up to something -- Dean was being much too quiet and accommodating. He just didn't have the faintest idea what it could be.

There was a knock at the door.

"Get that would you, Sammy?" Dean grabbed part of the bedspread and used it to cover up the guns and cleaning kit.

A cold feeling told Sam he might just be about to find out. Suspecting Dean had called for pizza or some kind of food delivery, he got up to get the door. He was actually stunned by whom he found as the pulled the door open. "Jeff?"

"Sam." His friend's eyes were red and his usual cheery expression subdued. His dark skin looked somewhat pasty.

"What, what are you doing here? How did you even find me?"

A little of the old familiar twinkle surfaced for a moment. "Emergency contact number, remember? We traded those quite a while ago."

Crap. Dean. Why in hell had his brother told Jeff how to get here? Wasn't getting all those damn phone calls enough for him to have to deal with on top of everything else? He knew he wasn't being fair to Jeff, but…

"I'm sensing you're not too thrilled to see me."

Sam forced a smile on his face, guilty twinges playing in his insides. "No, no. It's always good to see you, Jeff. It's just…everything…" He shrugged his shoulders not knowing how to explain it, and there being a lot more he couldn't even attempt to try to say.

"Well, you didn't sound too good on the phone, so I wanted to see how you were. See if there was anything I could do? And I found out about this thing the student body is doing for Jessica." Jeff shuffled his feet, still standing outside the doorway since Sam had made no move to invite him inside.

"A thing? I don't understand."

"Hey, Sammy, I gotta take care of some personal stuff in here, if you know what I mean?" Dean wiggled his eyebrows up and down. "Why don't you go away for a couple of hours and give me some space. Kapish?"

Sam half turned to stare at his brother, becoming more confused by the moment. "Dean, what the hell are you talking on about?"

"I got needs, bro. Gotta take care of 'em." Dean planted his hand on Sam's shoulder and pushed him out the door. "Try to eat something while you're out, okay?"

Sam half stumbled on the walk, Jeff keeping him from falling into the bushes. He turned around not understanding what his brother was doing. "No. I'm not going anywhere. What the heck-"

Dean didn't let him finish, giving him a big grin before slamming the motel room door on his face.

"Dean! Open this door, dammit." He pounded on it with his fist, but got no reaction. "_Dean_!"

"He's just worried about you. Like I am."

Sam snapped around to stare at Jeff. "There's nothing to be worried about. I'm _fine_."

Jeff's brow rose. "One of my best friends just died in a horrible accident. And she was your girlfriend, someone you loved with everything you've got. So how in the world can you expect me to think _you_ could be all right, when I sure as hell know I'm not, and I wasn't anywhere near as close to her as you were."

Sam looked away, having no rebuttal, since he knew it was true.

Jeff touched his arm. "Look, I just want to be there for you. She meant a lot to both of us."

Sam took a deep breath then forced himself to meet his gaze. "No, you're right. I'm just being selfish. I know she meant a lot to you too." Though he didn't want them, he felt tears try to gather in his eyes. "I'm just having a real hard time dealing, I guess."

Jeff nodded his own eyes far from clear. "I know what you mean. Hell, she was prancing around in that Slutty Nurse outfit last time I saw her. Not too sure that's the best last image you'd want me to have of your girl."

Sam half smiled despite himself, recalling the outfit only too clearly. "The skirt was pretty short. I was sure I was going to have to hold some of the frat guys back with a stick once they caught a look at her."

"As if she had eyes for anyone but your sorry ass." Jeff punched him lightly on the shoulder.

"I never understood what she saw in me at all." Sam's expression soured. If she hadn't fallen for him, if she'd turned him down when she'd had the chance, she might very well be alive right now instead of turned to ashes by supernatural fire, a victim of what was probably the Sam Winchester curse.

"Me neither! But then that's women for you." Jeff gave him a small smile. "It's the puppy dog eyes, man. It's always been those puppy dog eyes. Fools them every time."

Sam shook his head. "I guess."

"Anyway, I really do want you to come with me today. Like I said before, they're having a thing at the school tonight in honor of Jessica. And I really think you'll want to be there." Jeff grabbed his arm and started tugging him toward the parking lot. "Figured we could grab a bite to eat before going over there while we were at it."

"I get the feeling you and my brother had way too long of a conversation behind my back."

Jeff grinned. "We do what we gotta do sometimes, you know? Now come on."

------

Jeff took Sam to a little diner he had never been at before, which was just as well. It would have felt too awkward, hell, hurt too much, to have gone to any of their old haunts. As it was, Sam kept glancing toward the front door, expecting Jess to sachet in at any moment. It was like a hundred other times the three of them were going to get together. Except this time she would never show. The reality that she was gone kept shooting through him in unexpected bursts like shock treatments.

"Any info yet on the funeral?" Jeff bit into his hamburger.

Sam continued to ignore his sandwich, though he'd managed to force down half of the chicken soup so far. "No, not yet. Will be local though."

Jeff nodded. "Too bad Becky won't be able to make it. She's still out on that field study thing."

Sam had forgotten all about that. At least it would be one less person to have to deal with. Knowing Jessica's death was his fault just made talking to anyone about her incredibly difficult.

"You still haven't explained to me what this thing is you want to take me to. Do I really need to be there?"

"Come on, Sam. It's important. A lot of people came out of nowhere to put this together. They've been busting butt since they heard the news."

He shook his head still not understanding. "If you really think it's that important."

"I do."

Sam just hoped he wouldn't regret it.

------

It was just starting to get dark when Jeff took Sam over to the Quad and then past that to the open area between the two libraries. Off to the side, beneath one of the lights, a large table had been set up with a huge eight by eight ply board. A banner had been strung between two poles above that with the words – In honor of Jessica Moore.

The closer they came, the more dread welled up inside him. The ply board was plastered with pictures of Jess from different times of her life. Most looked like photos from school yearbooks, though other more recent ones looked like candid shots of her going about campus. Bits of her life put on display as if she were some kind of macabre celebrity. Looking at her many smiling faces felt like stabs in his heart. Jess would never smile again.

Lit candles formed a barrier before the ply board, their strong incense coating the air.

As if his presence were some kind of summons, people began to gather. Many brought their own candles, which they lit from those at the table. Wreaths of flowers got stacked on the floor, adding their own scent to the miasma already coiling about the place.

Sam stared at the faces of those who arrived, but aside from less than one in ten, he knew none of these people – doubted Jess had known them. Yet here they stood, showing tears and pain for someone they'd never met, drinking in the sight of what she looked like like ravenous hyenas as they discussed the horror of the fire and grisly manner of her death.

A young woman with red hair walked up to the table and turned around to face the others. Her eyes were red from crying, her cheeks flushed. Sam frowned as he also noticed a fading bruise on the lower side of her jaw.

She began speaking in halting spurts, but her voice gained strength as she went along, as if spurred by the eager attention of those before her. "I, I was Jessica's roommate a couple of years ago." A sad expression crossed her face. Sam thought her name might be Sheryl, someone Jess had spoken about rarely and then with some heat. "We didn't leave on the best of terms. I had thought things about her that weren't true." Sheryl stared at the ground. "Jessica tried to warn me about some stuff and I didn't believe her. But she was right. I know better now, yet was too much of a coward to ever look her up and apologize for the things I did in the past. Now I'll never get to." Her eyes overflowed with tears and they cascaded down her face. "I wished she weren't dead." Head bowed, she left the front of the table.

Others who also had actually known Jessica came to the front one by one and also said a few words before her mural. They spoke of how they'd all liked her. How much life she'd always seemed to have. What a shame it was this had happened to her. Even Jeff stepped forward to say a word or two. The crowd sucked it up like water on a sponge. The darkness and the flickering light of the candles twisted their features into gruesome masks. As he watched them, Sam realized they didn't care who Jessica really was, they didn't care that she was gone. It was the entertainment they were looking for, the chance to appear concerned, to squeeze any juicy tidbits about the affair they could from those involved.

Anger shot through him swift and hot. As he stared at the eager faces shinning with tears, he wanted nothing more than to tear into them, to grab them by their collars and force them to admit they hadn't known her, wouldn't have cared to learn anything about her if not for the gory manner of her demise.

"Sam, maybe you should say a few words too? At least thank them for coming?"

He recoiled from Jeff as if the latter had bit him. He should say something about Jessica? _To them_? His nails bit into his palms, his hands coiled into fists at his side. "No."

"But, Sam..." Jeff stepped in close.

"I said_ no_." He shoved his friend away and stalked off before he was tempted to give in to the impulse to grab the photo covered ply board and smash it over the crowd's heads to send them all running in a panic.

-----

Hours later, he somehow found himself back at the motel parking lot with no recollection of how he got there. His legs and body ached from all the coiled tension and walking, exhaustion nibbling at the edges. Yet he had no way of letting any of it go.

He followed the sand colored walls to the room they were staying in. He tried the knob on the door and found it wasn't locked. He stared at it in disappointment, half looking forward to the excuse to beat on it if it had been. He shoved it open with undue force then slammed it back closed when he moved past.

Sam caught Dean's look of utter surprise from the corner of his eye but didn't care. He threw himself on the nearest bed, keeping his back to his brother.

For once, his brother actually kept his mouth shut and left him alone.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The door shot forward and Dean jumped where he sat on the bed watching TV, hand reflexively reaching behind him for the gun tucked in the small of his back. Sam strode inside like some sort of elemental force and slammed the door closed as he went past. Every single tacky picture on the walls reverberated from the force of it. Dean would have been impressed if it hadn't so shocked the piss out of him.

He thumbed the TV off with the remote, his gaze glued to his brother as Sam stormed to his bed and threw himself on it with his back toward to Dean.

If he thought of the room as empty before, it was more than overflowing now with tension. Bad vibes radiated from Sam like piercing alien death rays leaving nothing and no one untouched.

So much for Jeff's plan – looked like it had backfired big time. Sammy looked ripe to literally blow up in pieces. If his back and shoulders were any more rigid, Dean was sure he would have torn himself in two.

He wanted to do something to help his brother, but he didn't want to be on the receiving end of that. Well honed survival instincts insisted this wasn't the time to bring attention to himself. Sam was beyond volatile at the moment and their relationship just starting to knit back together, he didn't dare do anything that might somehow compromise it. He'd waited way too long to try to put things back they way they used to be to risk it.

So he sat, watched, and waited to see what was what.

The minutes ticked by and inch by inch Dean gradually saw the tightness around his brother ease up. A good half hour after that, Sam's breathing evened and deepened. Dean gave it another ten minutes, then quietly got up. Taking the cover off his own bed, he gingerly put it over Sammy's long body. His brother never stirred. Dean turned off the lights and went to bed.

------

A gasp and flurry of movement brought Dean awake. His hand had already wormed it's way underneath the pillow and the knife hidden there before his awareness told him there was no intruder in the room, that is was Sammy.

He heard his brother struggling for breath, barely able to see his dark form sitting up in bed. Dean remained totally still, only his gaze moving for a half moment to check the time. It was one forty five. Looked like Sammy only got a couple of hours of sleep – again.

Dean waited, wondering and at the same time half hoping Sam would call for him. When they'd been a family, he'd never hesitated. Sammy had always had nightmares, even as a baby, as if somewhere deep inside he'd understood the horror he'd witnessed back home in Kansas. With the things they saw helping their father in the hunt and the monsters he made them learn about, Sam's imaginative brain had gone to town, his dreams filled with nasty images even into his late teens. And when he had them, Dean made sure to be there, to either grab him up and bring him to his bed or just curl up around him until his brother wasn't afraid anymore. But that was then. Before.

Dean wasn't a hundred percent sure where he stood anymore. And he didn't want Sammy to push him away by appearing too eager, by getting in his space. Though to him in most ways it felt like the two of them had never been apart, it wasn't true. Whether he liked to admit it or not, things had changed. There was a distance, a barrier that had never been between them before, the type you kept between yourself and strangers. The fact Sammy was suffering so much would make it doubly hard to bring that barrier down for another and a lot easier to just not bother and reinforce it instead.

The nightmares worried Dean too. He wasn't sure where they were coming from. Yeah, Jessica had died an ugly death and Sam had been there to see it, but something about it just didn't sit right. Asking his brother about it was out of the question right at the moment though. Besides, Sammy's continued silence on the topic despite the fact both of them were well aware of it happening was pretty much a neon sign that he wouldn't talk about it willingly. As much as Dean liked to accuse him of being the touchy feely one, when it came to things affecting him directly, Sammy could be as tight lipped as the best of them.

Sam got up and went to the bathroom. Keeping the door open only a crack, he turned on the light inside and used it to dig out some clothes. He went back into the bathroom and soon Dean heard the sound of the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, Sam came out clothed and damp. He grabbed his laptop from the dresser and picked up one of the biggest chairs and moved it to the corner. Sitting down, he opened the laptop, the screen light washing over and behind him against the wall.

Dean watched him unobtrusively for several minutes, and after making sure his brother wasn't going to bolt or do anything rash allowed himself to relax and fall back to sleep.

------

The fun started all over again sometime after eight. Dean was standing near the bed drying his hair with a towel; Sam was still perched in the chair in the corner, gaze glued to the computer screen. That's when his cell phone went off.

Dean was forced to jump back as Sam shot out of the chair, scrambling to get the phone from the corner it had ended up at yesterday.

From the total deflation of his brother's shoulders when he answered the call, Dean realized it was just another griever and not Jessica's parents. As soon as the platitudes were over and he could get rid of them, Sam checked the phone for messages.

Dean knew there were plenty. The darn thing had rang off and on for hours after Sam left with Jeff the day before. The deepening frown on Sam's face told him none of the messages were from them either.

Every time the cell phone went off and Sam answered it, it was like watching those people take a little piece of his brother's soul away. It was as if every condolence, every offer, every spoken sadness was a new nail driven into Jessica's coffin, driving home anew that she was dead. Dean started to hope her parents would just call and get it over with, so his brother could turn off the blasted phone and get a respite.

"Hey, Sammy, why don't you let me answer the phone for a while? You can think about where you might want to go get some lunch or something."

His brother shook his head no, and before Dean could try to press the point, the cell phone rang again.

"Hello?"

Dean grimaced, expecting a replay of all the other calls. Instead Sam sat up straighter.

"Yes, I'm glad you called."

Hoping it was whom he thought it was, Dean grabbed the motel stationary and a pen and brought them over without being asked. Sam took them without looking at him, his focus totally on the call.

"At seven tonight? Yeah, we'll be there. Absolutely." Sam hurriedly wrote some info on the pad. "Anything you want me to do?"

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, trying hard not to stare, but still curious as hell.

"That's all right. I understand. Thank you for calling me." Sam twirled the pen between his long fingers, staring at the paper as if trying to commit the information to memory. "Okay. Yeah, sure. Good bye." He closed up the phone and set it on the arm of the chair.

"Was that them?"

Sam nodded not looking his way, his brows gathered together.

Dean stood up and walked over to him. Without asking, he grabbed the cell phone, opened it back up and hit the power off button. As the phone went into its little power down song, he shoved it into his back pocket.

Sam stared at him confused. "Dean, give me back my phone."

"Nope. Time for some peace and quiet. Now tell me where we're going and when."

------

Dean parked the car at the Jones Mortuary at ten minutes to seven. The unassuming one story green avocado building hadn't been hard to find. He didn't think much of their color scheme though. Worse, the body of the hearse parked at the far corner of the lot was the exact same color. He didn't normally think of himself as any kind of traditionalist, but since when was there something wrong with the color black? Maybe it was just a California thing.

He stuck his finger into the collar of his shirt, trying to loosen it a little for probably the tenth time. He hated closed collars and ties gave him a rash. Being dressed up wasn't him, though he had to admit certain things did call for it. Unfortunately this was one of them.

Dean glanced over at his brother. Sammy had pretty much spaced out the rest of the day after the call, not doing or saying much of anything. He'd dressed like some programmed automaton, not even a soft snort of disgust when Dean suggested he do his tie for him. In the blue suit and reddish tie, his hair combed back and neat, Sammy turned out rather nice. Gave Dean an idea of what he would have looked like if he'd gone on to become a lawyer like he wanted.

Right now though, what he looked like was trapped and scared, his gaze glued to the front glass doors of the funeral home as if staring at a gallows, his right leg pumping up and down like a piston.

"You don't have to do this, you know. If you're not ready, I'm sure they'd understand."

Sam shook his head, his gaze never leaving the doors. "I have to do this. I owe her at least that much." He opened the car door and got out.

Dean followed.

The main glass doors of the place led into a wide, open hallway in soothing pastels. Small protruding signs marked the main office, coffee room, and suites A and B. The double doors to suite B were open. A lectern set against one of the open doors held a white guest book.

Dean took the lead and signed their names. Sam waited for him at the open doorway, his face a careful mask. Dean moved to stand beside him.

The room was set up like a small chapel. Dark wooden pews were set to either side of an open isle leading to the front of the room. There, a wide foot tall stage held a green skirted frame with a long, rose colored coffin sitting on top. The coffin was closed, but a bigger than life sized portrait of Jessica sat on a golden easel to the side.

Flower arrangements crowded the area behind the coffin, the clashing scent of roses, lilies, and carnations filling the air.

"Roses are lame."

Dean glanced sideways at his brother not sure where that had come from. "They are?"

Sam didn't answer him, instead taking a deep breath before stepping into the room.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

As he stepped over the threshold into the viewing room, Sam wasn't really aware of anyone or anything. He walked forward toward the casket seeing nothing else. Jess was there. Or at least what little remained of her was. Was her spirit here as well? Would he be able to feel her reaching for him if she was? And would she be doing it with love or hatred?

"Sam!"

He turned around not having realized anyone was there. At the left far corner he spotted Jessica's parents and another woman Sam hadn't met before. He felt his smile turn brittle as he got a good look at both of them.

Jess's parent appeared diminished, as if something vital had been sucked away from them, leaving behind partially emptied husks of their old selves. Laura was dressed in a plain black dress, none of her usual jewelry glimmering from her ears or neck, her hair pulled plainly into a bun, instead of its usual coiffure. Her eyes looked lost and empty, she didn't even seem aware others were there. Travis didn't look much better. He was dressed in a dark suit but his tie sat somewhat askew. The lines in his face ran deeper than before, his face drooping. The light in his eyes was dulled.

He had done this to them.

Sam forced himself to walk over to meet them. It was very hard to look them in the face.

"Laura, look, it's Sam. He's come." Travis reached down to touch his wife's shoulder. "Myra, this is Jessica's boyfriend, Sam."

Laura's sister nodded in his direction, keeping hold of one of Laura's hands on her lap. Jessica's mother slowly turned her head to look at him, as if things inside her weren't connected quite right. The moment she truly saw Sam's face, however, her mouth opened into a silent O. A second later, she jerked up to her feet. "Tell me! You have to tell me. What happened to my daughter?"

She threw herself at him, but Travis caught her and held her back. "Now, Laura, calm down. He'll tell us what he knows, but you must calm down."

Sam inadvertently took a step back, the despair and need in the woman's face tearing at his soul. "I…" Words crammed themselves into his throat jumbling for position. A weight suddenly hung about his neck as if signs had just been draped over his chest and back with the word 'guilty' carved into them. "I wasn't there, Mrs. Moore. I had to leave on a family emergency with my brother the day before." He swallowed hard. "I got back after it was over. I don't know what happened." The weight increased, the word 'liar' added to the bigger signs.

Laura's face crumpled and fell, a soft wail of misery escaping her lips. Travis wrapped her in his arms, making small shushing sounds.

"It was just a tragic accident, honey. The police explained everything, remember? It's no one's fault." Tears gathered and fell down Travis' cheeks as he spoke.

Sam stared at the floor, his stomach knotting. He should tell them the truth, tell them what he suspected. But though he wanted to with every fiber of his being, the lessons pounded into him over and over by his father kept him silent. Normals weren't meant to know what they knew. They couldn't handle it. It might drive them into madness. Their father had always insisted he'd seen it happen before. And looking at Jessica's mother, at how hard she was taking all this, he couldn't be sure it wouldn't happen to her. He was already to blame for so much he just couldn't take the risk and add more to his tally. He also wasn't sure he could handle the accusation in their eyes if they came to know how it tied back to him. His lip trembled. He wasn't all that sure it wouldn't push him to be the one to give in to insanity.

"Let me take her." Myra gently pried Laura away from Travis. "We'll go to the ladies room and freshen up. People will start arriving soon and she won't want them to see her like this."

Laura let herself be guided from the room.

"Jessica was the world to her." Travis' voice was low. "They didn't see eye to eye on most things, but the love was always there…"

Sam couldn't look at him. Didn't dare. He was sure the signs about his neck were glowing.

Other people showed up a few minutes later, more relatives who lived in the area. Sam stayed near Travis, thinking it was the least he could do – a kind of silent moral support. The thought made him look around for his brother, who in his own way was doing the same thing.

Dean had set himself up on the right hand corner from the door, making himself unobtrusive and almost invisible. The fact he was there, paying attention yet staying out of the way, just a shout away if needed, was comfort Sam wasn't sure he deserved. The fact Dean was so controlled scared him a little as well. It was a sign his brother didn't think Sam was doing so hot. Not that he was. But this just drove home it must be even worse than he thought. His brother didn't normally expend this kind of energy to be quiet unless things were very serious. It was contrary to his nature.

There just wasn't much Sam thought he could do to reassure him.

Laura and Myra came back, Jessica's mother looking a little more together. The two of them took over the left pew closest to the casket.

Stoically, Travis remained close to the doors to greet people as they came in. Sam stayed with him.

His skin crawled every time someone new arrived. At any moment he expected one of them to stare at him in shock and shout out his crimes, expose his lies, bring up his curse.

"Hey, Sam."

He looked up at the familiar voice. Jeff was sheepishly standing in the doorway to the room. Sam felt his cheeks and neck grow hot, remembering his behavior the last time they'd been together. The guilt quickly doubled as he realized he'd not once thought of calling his friend to let him know where the viewing would be. He wondered if Jeff had called Dean or if it'd been the other way around. "Jeff. Uhm, Jeff this is Mr. Moore, Jessica's father.

"Mr. Moore, this is Jeff Thompson, a close friend of Jessica's."

Travis' face half lit up, as if by meeting someone close to his daughter he were somehow getting a small bit of her back. "It's good to meet you, Jeff. Thank you for coming." They shook hands.

"I hope it's okay to ask," Jeff said. "Are the funeral arrangements made yet? I'd like to attend the burial if that's okay."

Sam hadn't thought that far himself. Getting through the viewing the most he could handle at present.

"There should be fliers with directions outside the viewing room at some point, I think. The burial is tomorrow."

Sam felt his heart lurch. He threw a look in the direction of the coffin. After tomorrow, Jessica would be totally out of his reach.

Jeff nodded. "Would it be all right if I stole Sam away for just a minute, Mr. Moore?"

"Please. It's not like I'm going anywhere." Travis' smile at the joke fell short.

Sam sedately followed Jeff as he moved off to the side a bit. He looked anywhere but at his friend.

"I got real worried about you last night."

"Sorry." Sam made himself to look him in the face. "I shouldn't have pushed you and run off. I know you only meant well, but I just couldn't stay there anymore."

"Hey, no biggie." Jeff clapped him on the shoulder.

"I should have called you about the viewing too. Called to apologize, something. It just never…" All he could do was shrug.

"Don't worry about it. Honest." Jeff sounded earnest. "Just, just don't forget I'm here for you."

Sam nodded. "I appreciate that. I really do."

People walked to the casket and paid their respects in ones and twos, always stopping for a moment to speak to Myra, Laura, or Travis. Sam suffered through a lot of introductions, deep down knowing he would never see any of these people again. That part of his life was over. Until he hunted down and killed whatever murdered Jess, he had no right to be in any way a part of her family's life.

"I don't think anyone else is coming," Myra said sometime later. "I believe we should go ahead and take Laura home. She's going to need to rest for tomorrow."

Sam glanced at his watch. It was almost nine. He could have sworn they'd been here at least six hours instead of a measly two. His back and feet hurt, his shoulders were stiff. And there was more to come.

Travis nodded at the suggestion. Myra went to fetch his wife.

"We'll see you tomorrow, won't we, Sam?" Travis looked wane -- as if being here and greeting people had aged him ten years.

"Yes, sir. I'll be there."

"Good. Very good." The three of them said their goodbyes and left.

Sam stared after them until they were long gone.

"Shouldn't we get going too?" Dean was right beside him. Sam never noticed him come over. That seemed to be happening to him a lot. He didn't know how he should feel about it though.

"I'm going to stay a while." He avoided meeting his brother's eyes. "Go back to the motel. I'll call a cab or something when I'm ready."

"But, Sammy…"

"I need some time alone, okay?" He turned his back to his brother, really not wanting to get into this. He didn't want to have to explain. This was his last chance. "Please go, Dean. _Please_."

Sam waited to hear him leave or protest or something, but what his brother actually did caught him totally off guard. Dean hugged him from behind, hard. Sam gasped, the contact sending a shock through him. He knew his brother; knew this was his way of telling Sam all the things he couldn't say out loud and still consider himself a man. But Sam couldn't accept it. He deserved no comfort, no acceptance. His sins were too large, too unforgivable -- a shame he hoped he would never have to explain or expose.

Yet before he could get a chance to reject what was being given, Dean had already let go. Sam took an unsteady breath, and listened to his brother's receding footsteps as he gave Sam what he'd asked for.

Fists coiled at his side and eyes clamped shut, Sam begged for the tears not to come, having needed and been more touched by his brother's gesture than he was willing to admit.

Once he was sure Dean was gone and he felt he had himself somewhat under control, he shut the doors into the room and locked them. He wanted total privacy for what he was about to do.

With measured steps, he walked down the center isle up to Jessica's casket. He tried to smile at her image, even as he let his hand travel over the coffin's cold plastic coated surface in a soft caress.

"Hey, Jess." A lump lodged itself in his throat. "I'm sorry it's taken so long to come see you. Everything's been pretty crazy the last few days. But I came back, just like I promised." His eyes burned.

"I kept things from you, Jess." Sam swallowed hard. "I thought I was protecting you, doing the right thing. But maybe I didn't…" The muscle at his jaw twitched. "And I so wanted to do right by you. I owe you so much." He caressed the coffin again. "You were my bridge to the real world -- something I so desperately needed. You helped me understand how real people live, how to be normal. You gave me my soul's desire."

He took a deep shuddering breath. "After that, all I wanted was to spend the rest of my life making you happy, paying you back, loving you."

A warm tear coursed down his cheek and splashed unnoticed on the coffin, showing myriad reflections of the pain shinning in his face.

"Instead, instead I placed you in harms way. I never warned you of what was out there, of the truths I knew about. I didn't teach you how to protect yourself." He looked away from her portrait, too ashamed. "I never told you what I saw in my nightmares so you could be prepared. _I sentenced you to death_."

Because of him, his lover was dead. He'd killed her, just as surely as if he'd set her on fire with his own hands.

The weight of it crushed him, driving him to his knees before the lifeless pieces that were the only things remaining of the woman he loved.

"I'm sorry, Jess. I am so very sorry."

His throat tightened and no more words would come. All he had left for her were tears of pain and shame which flowed freely down his face.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Dean yawned, rolling stiff shoulders. He glanced at his watch and saw it was past ten. He bit his lip. He held some idea of what was probably going on inside the viewing room -- just not how long it would be likely to take. The one thing he knew for sure was there was no way he was going to leave his brother to make his way back to the motel on his own -- especially not in his current state.

He glanced over toward the funeral home's main doors, the fingers of his left hand drumming on the steering wheel. The urge to go take a peek and check in on Sam had been itching at him for a while. He doubted his brother would appreciate it though.

Movement inside caught at his attention. Someone was in the large hallway. About a minute later he saw his brother come out the front doors. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, head hung low.

Dean waited to see what he would do, but he did nothing. Sam only stood in the parking lot, half covered in shadow. Dean rolled down the window.

"Hey, college boy, need a ride?"

Sammy glanced up, blinking, a look of utter befuddlement on his face.

Dean started up the Impala and drove over. He reached across the seat and opened the passenger door. "Get in."

"D-Dean?" Sam just stood there, scrunched down and staring at him, as if still unable to believe he was there. His eyes were red and puffy.

"No, I'm a pod person." He put as much sarcasm into the statement as he could. "Just get in, dude. Quit messing around." He was surprised to see a debate clash back and forth over Sam's face. What the hell? "Now, Sammy!"

His brother finally got in, not looking at him. "I told you I'd get back on my own." There was just a touch of reproach in the statement and something else Dean couldn't make heads or tails of.

"Big brother prerogative says I don't have to do what you say and could wait if I wanted to. And I wanted to, so just zip it."

Sam just scrunched down in his seat and stared out the window. "Thanks…"

Dean only shrugged and got them on their way.

"I was thinking we might stop somewhere and grab some grub." Though he'd been able to filch some food here and there for himself he knew that aside from coffee, water, and soda, Sam had had nothing substantial all day -- _again_.

"I just want to go bed…" Sam never moved.

Dean frowned at him. "Come on, Sammy. This isn't healthy. You're not doing anyone any good doing this."

His brother ignored him.

"Sam?" Worry gnawed at his gut, but knew he couldn't force his brother to eat. There had to be something that would motivate him though, something that would drag him out of this hole he'd thrown himself into. "I know we haven't been able to find any clues about the thing that killed Jessica and it's driving you nuts. Whatever did this though covered its tracks real good. So I was thinking we should concentrate on finding Dad first. He'll know what to make of this. Him disappearing and this thing coming back, surely they're connected somehow, you know? Maybe it means Dad's getting close and it's panicking."

His brother shot up in his seat, his head snapping in his direction. "You really think that?"

Dean wasn't able to maintain eye contact. He was reaching at straws and he knew it. But straws were all he had. "We'll know when we find him."

Sam deflated like a balloon. "I see."

"Dammit, Sam! It's the only thing we've got!"

"Sure…" His head turned away, gaze once more out the window.

Dean gnashed his teeth, gripping the steering wheel until his hands hurt. So much for that idea. He parked the car once they got back to the motel and opened the door of the Impala a little harder than normal. He heard the passenger door open as well, but when he turned as he got out, didn't see his brother's head towering over the roof as it should have. Half ducking to take a look back in the car, he didn't find him there either.

"_Sammy_?" Dean jumped over the hood of the car, blind panic telling him his brother had vanished just like their Dad. Instead he found him on the asphalt on his hands and knees, his whole body shaking. "Sam!"

He grabbed his brother up, helping him sit, his gaze frantically checking every part of him. Sam's face was sheet white, his eyes large and unfocused.

Dean pushed his brother back against the side of the car. He loosened Sam's tie, undoing the first couple of buttons on his shirt before grabbing his cold face in his hands. "Hey, Sammy, come on! Look at me. I'm here. Look _at me_."

Sam's gaze continued to wander unfocused, but after a couple of moments seemed to become aware of him and narrowed in on Dean's face. "Dean..."

"That's right. It's big brother." His worry eased just a notch. "Now tell me what's going on."

"It..." Sam's eyes closed, his face scrunching for a moment as if battling to concentrate and put some thoughts together. "I stood up and everything just...flipped over..." He opened his eyes again looking lost and scared.

The answering pang at seeing this made Dean's stomach clench. "That's it. _I've had it_. We're getting you something to eat and you're going to eat it."

"No..."

Dean grabbed Sammy by the armpits and heaved him to his feet keeping a tight hold just in case. "It's not open for discussion. Got it? Unless you're planning to do a swan dive at the funeral tomorrow? Think about how that would go over. Do you _really_ want to go there?"

Color suddenly flushed his brother's cheeks. He shook his head, no longer meeting Dean's gaze.

"Glad to hear it." He pushed the passenger door open further with his foot and helped his brother inside a lot more gently than his tone had been.

Dean drove around town looking for a likely place. He knew from Jeff his brother had drank a little soup when they went out, so he figured that would be his best bet. However, finding an open restaurant was proving to be a problem. Who would have thought a college town would be rolling up the carpet at ten? Were they nuts?

After a half hour of fruitless searching he hit a 7-11 and bought some ready to eat Campbell's soup and heated three up in their microwave. He scarfed down a couple of Smoky Big Bites while he waited for the food to heat up and chased them with a Super Big Gulp. Then he grabbed a couple of yogurt type drinks on the way out and a way overpriced bottle of vitamins.

The moment he slipped inside the Impala he slapped one of the soup containers into Sam's hands. "I want that gone in five. You get me?"

His brother didn't say anything but did bring the cup up to his lips.

He handed Sam a second one as soon as the first was gone. "Again."

By the time they made it back to the motel, his brother was on the third container of soup.

Dean parked the car. "Sit. I'll come around for you."

That earned him a frowning glare. Good, the soup was doing its job already.

Dean opened the passenger door, plastic bag in one hand, and stayed close as his brother unfolded himself out of the car. He didn't seem to be having any problems. Nevertheless, he made Sammy go first so he could keep an eye on him and react if needed.

As soon as they were inside, he pointed his brother to the nearest chair then set the two yogurt drinks on the table beside it. "Those need to go too. Get cracking."

The frown was now accompanied by a half pout. Better and better.

"I'm not eight, Dean. I don't need to be told what to do."

Dean gave Sam a raised brow. "Really? Cause from where I'm standing, it's totally obvious you haven't been taking care of business. As soon as you decide to straighten up and take care of yourself, though, I'll happily back off."

Sam glared hard at him, swiped one of the yogurt drinks off the table and opened it up. "Fine. I _will_."

Dean pulled out the vitamins and set them on the dresser. "About time."

"_Jerk_."

"Bitch." Dean made sure to keep his back turned, not wanting to risk Sammy seeing his relieved smile. Maybe they would get through this.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

_You let me die. You never loved me. You did this to me!_

Sam's eyes snapped open, his heart thumping in his chest, the accusing words still echoing in his head. Tears stung his eyes but he held them back. "Jess." The word was but a ghost of a whisper. He hoped with every fiber of his being she hadn't believed those things -- that she hadn't felt betrayed in her last moments, or thought he let her down. Though in a way both were true.

He rubbed his hands hard over his face and sighed. The room was silent and dark. He was sure it was still hours before morning. He'd been unable to get a single night's real sleep since Jessica died, his guilt running rampant in his subconscious. Two to three hours was the most he could hope for, just enough to keep him functioning. Not that he'd been doing such a great job of that.

Sam turned his head to the left. He could barely see the lump that was his brother on the other bed. Though he said nothing, Sam was sure Dean was awake and knew he was too. It was a Mother Dean skill. Something Sam never understood as a kid, but had always found reassuring.

But that was then. He didn't need Mother Dean anymore. He had grown past all that or so he liked to tell himself. He turned on his side and pretended to sleep for his brother's benefit. At least one of them should try to get some rest.

He wouldn't though -- his thoughts banging around in his head clearer than they'd been in days. There were facts staring him in the face he just couldn't ignore anymore. Jessica, Mom, both dead in the same way, both dying in front of him. What were the odds of something like that happening and not somehow being connected? Probably a trillion or more to one. Which meant it'd been deliberate. And the only common denominator was him. It was a message of some kind, but not one he understood. Yet one aimed entirely at him.

Did Dean know? Surely the facts hadn't escaped his brother and he'd been thinking a lot more clearly than he had. Was he cursed? Would Dean be the next victim? The thought sent tendrils of fear coiling about his heart. And what about Dad? Was he gone because of him too? If only they'd been able to find something, anything to help make sense of all of this or at least point them in the direction of the thing who'd done it.

They'd found nothing at the apartment, nothing around the neighborhood. All his research on the net hadn't shown any real anomalies in the area or other murders or unexplained crimes – zilch they could even pretend might be a lead. All he had was a lot of nothing!

What was he supposed to do with that?

The questions bounced around inside him, no answers materializing, the hours slowly ticking away. Was this how their father felt after their mother died? He'd seen it happen. Seen her _die_. Though everyone around him tried to tell him it was an accident and that he'd been imagining things, he'd known the truth. Yet he'd had no answers only questions. Not even when he learned the supernatural was real did he come any closer to the truth. Was that to be Sam's legacy as well? Wasting his life searching for answers and never finding any?

Sam swept the blankets off his body, anger and bitterness filling him just thinking about it. He got up, glanced at the clock, and saw it was just after six. If he kept it quiet, he should be able to take a shower and get dressed without bothering Dean. Then maybe he'd go get them some coffee. Though he was sure his brother would insist he eat again, whether he wanted to or not.

He got up on silent feet and made his way to the bathroom.

The water felt good crashing against his skin. It shocked him really. It seemed hard to believe anything could be good now that Jessica was gone.

Just thinking about her made him wrench inside. He missed her so much – her bright smile, her golden hair, the scent of her. He wanted her to be by his side again so badly...

Hot tears mixed for a while with the flowing water cascading from the shower onto his face.

Sam took his time shaving then dressing, picking off the bits of dirt he'd picked up on the suit from the asphalt last night. He wanted to look his best for this last meeting with his lover. It was the least he could do.

He opened the door out of the bathroom and was surprised to find the rest of the lights were on in the room.

"Oh great, you're out." Dean turned toward him from the small round table. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. "Went and got us some breakfast. You _will_ eat some. I'll be checking so no cheating."

As Dean moved off to get his clothes, Sam saw the table was overflowing with different types of breakfast food, the vitamin bottle from last night taking a prominent spot in the middle. Sam hoped his brother wasn't delusional enough to think he was going to down anywhere near the amount he'd bought.

"Left me some hot water I hope?"

Sam looked away. "Probably not. Sorry."

"I'll make it real short then. And you can make it up to me by eating more than just a bite or two. I told you, I'll be checking!" He sauntered off into the bathroom and closed the door.

Sam grimaced, wondering just what exactly Dean had decided would be good breakfast food. The choices of what his brother typically considered food left a lot to be desired. He checked what was there as he sat down and was pleasantly surprised. Wherever Dean had gone to get them breakfast hadn't been one of his usual fast food stops. Apples, bananas, sliced Colby cheese and stick sausage, yogurt, scrambled eggs, bacon, crepes, and omelets – actual _real_ food. He was shocked even more as he found his mouth actually watering.

By the time Dean returned from the bathroom, Sam had eaten a half plateful of the stuff. He felt full, more than full really, and decided he'd had enough. He chased it all down with some bottled water and a couple of the vitamins.

Dean walked past, struggling to button the last two buttons on his shirt, his gaze eyeing the food, the nearby trashcan, then the plate. Sam didn't miss his slight nod, seemingly satisfied with what he saw.

As he watched his brother then struggle with his tie, Sam realized he possessed no idea where they were going or when they needed to get there. A dash of panic sprinkled over him. "Dean, please tell me you got the details for the funeral last night."

His brother turned around to look at him with a raised brow. "I got the details for the funeral last night. Good brother that I am I am."

Sam sighed in relief then wondered how other grief stricken people managed to do anything. Or perhaps it was only those who were also weighed down with guilt that couldn't keep track of things anymore.

"We're supposed to meet at the funeral home then follow the dorky hearse to the burial site." He glanced at his watch. "We've got plenty of time."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Sammy was looking better – his eyes were brighter, his face holding some decent color. After the scare the night before, Dean was more than glad to see it. Food and sleep would make everything even better. Food was coming along, but sleep… Hopefully time would let Sam work out whatever was eating at him. As long as he didn't do anything too stupid, Dean would give him that time. Otherwise…

The drive to the funeral home went without incident. Dean sensed his brother tensing up though the closer they came.

After today, it would be over. A chapter would be closing in Sam's life. A new one would be beginning – the two of them together again, finally, like they were meant to be. And if they were lucky, maybe as a family of three after they found Dad. The whole thing was bittersweet. It seemed wrong for him to feel such hope and maybe happiness out of the ashes of Sam's pain. If there was ever anyway for Sam to get something for himself again, to find love again, Dean would be there pushing him to it one hundred percent. Just as long as Sam didn't cut him off, not like before. It would be too much to take. But otherwise he wouldn't begrudge his little brother anything.

A limo was parked beside the hearse in the funeral home's parking lot. He parked behind it, following the orange cones set in rows to get the car train lined up. The door to the limo opened when he stopped, and Mr. Moore came out. His black suit was more formal than the one he wore to the viewing, but he seemed less beaten and in shock than the night before. Sammy got out of the Impala to greet him. Dean stayed inside doing his best not to get in the way of things.

"Sir."

"Good to see you, Sam." They shook hands. "I'm hoping you'll ride with us?"

Dean saw Sammy hesitate, then nod. "I'd be honored." He didn't envy his brother this one bit. It'd be the last place he'd want to be, even though it was a limo. All that radiating emotion in such an enclosed space would drive him crazy.

Sammy glanced back over his shoulder at him, sending him an apologetic shrug and a look telling him where he'd really rather be. He then got into the limo. With the tinted windows and no way to see inside, it was as if the car swallowed him whole.

More cars showed up and lined up behind them. A couple of motorcycle cops came and chewed the fat with the hearse driver, obviously old pals. The minutes ticked by and Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, wishing he could turn on some music, but knew that blasts of Metallica or AC/DC probably wouldn't be appreciated on such a somber occasion. Even if it was good for what ailed them.

No signs of life from the limo, not even as the funeral attendants informed everyone things were set to go. The motorcycle cops went first, then the hearse, the limo, and the rest of them. The pace was slow, one cop stopping at intersections to hold up cross traffic and wave the procession on through, the other making sure to stay with the hearse for the next set. Dean wiggled in his seat, the crawling speed driving him nuts. Even Baby didn't sound happy, her engine on idle able to move them faster than this crawling pace. He knew this was how processions were normally done, but he just didn't understand the point of parading a dead loved one for everyone to see. Grief was a private thing, not something to be flaunted and stared at. The dead were dead, their spirits gone, what did they care about any of this?

He knew they were finally getting close as manicured trees and an iron rod fence filled the view to their right. It was a lot fancier than most cemeteries he and his family normally visited in their line of business – manicured lawns, beds of flowers, statuary, groomed trees, benches, even some modern lawn art. Not shabby that was for sure.

The front gates stood open, a blacktop road lined with flags waiting for their passage. The car train wove like a snake through the huge set of grounds, headstones leering back at them wherever they looked, reminding everyone death was the only thing one could be sure of in this world.

The hearse finally stopped beside an area of grass where a place had already been prepared for Jessica Moore's internment. The hole was covered over by a platform mechanism bordered in green cloth.

Dean parked the Impala and got out of the car, though he made no move to cross on over to the prepared area. He watched as Sam and the Moore family got out of the limo. His brother looked tense and his face was a little paler than when he first joined Jessica's family for the ride. Mrs. Moore, more dolled up than the night before, was led to the gravesite by the same woman who'd been helping her out the night before. Sam and Mr. Moore headed toward the hearse. The two of them, plus four other men Dean didn't know, grabbed hold of the coffin then lifted it to carry it on over to the platform. Sam's face was a blank mask.

As soon as the coffin was placed on the platform and a wreath of flowers placed atop it, a preacher came forward, a bible open in his hands. Dean could barely hear what he said from where he leaned against the Impala, but then he had no interest in his words. It would just be the same old platitudes people liked to hear to delude themselves as to an afterlife, the reward waiting for them beyond their time on Earth. Bunk -- all of it. You lived, you partied hard, you died. End of story. There was no heaven, no place of grand rewards. Too many good people died in horrible ways every day -- victims of the evils of man and other things that lived in the darkness. If there was some offsetting force of good, he would have seen evidence of it by now – and he hadn't seen squat. He hoped the words being spewed over there weren't just twisting the knife as far as his brother went. Sammy was hurting, hurting bad, and there really was no comfort to be had. Jessica was gone. Just like Mom. And without comfort sometimes other things would set it, like bitterness, hate. Having Sam turn into a younger version of their Dad wouldn't be a good thing. That's what Dean had to watch out for, needed to prevent. There was a lot of good they could do by hunting, but it shouldn't rule them, not like it did their father's every waking breath.

He shifted where he stood. He messed with his collar though he knew it would do no good. He _really_ hated ties.

A sob echoed back to where he was. Looked like the crying was starting. It felt wrong. The day was gorgeous, puffy clouds seeding the sky, the sun shinning bright, the air cool and smelling of flowers. Birds sang happily in the trees, and squirrels were doing whatever it was that squirrels did. The cluster of people standing before the covered grave giving off all those waves of grief and distress were like a sore on Mother Nature's face.

They might not appreciate the beauty around them, but he sure did. Beat having to be out here in the dark and pouring rain.

The preacher finally brought his droning to an end. Tears glistened or stained almost every face. He was glad he couldn't see Sam's pain from here, if he was showing any of it, which Dean doubted. He and the Moore's were at the forefront, facing the coffin, their backs to him. It was bad enough knowing his brother was going through this, but it was worse to have to see it and know there was nothing he could do about it.

The motor for the platform started up and Jessica's casket was lowered into the hidden hole beneath. Several of those present tossed in flowers after it as it lowered from view. Dean recognized Jeff as one of them.

Most of those gathered there then gradually dispersed, leaving after a final word with Sam, or someone from Jessica's family, or both. Dean ignored them, watching his brother's increasingly weighted posture, not even when they sent questioning looks his way. Must be bad etiquette to wait in the wings or something, like he cared.

Jeff stuck around a little longer than most, but eventually left as well after a final squeeze to Sam's shoulder. Dean nodded toward him and he nodded back as he left.

The preacher approached Sam and the Moores. Dean didn't know what the heck the man said to them, but more sobbing ensued. Give it a rest, dude. Let them grieve in private not make a spectacle of them where the man could get his jollies and watch. People could be so weird.

The platform around the grave was dismantled and workers stood by to fill it in with dirt. The preacher herded the family away back toward the road. Dean observed them from the corner of his eye, not wanting them to know he was watching.

"Please feel free to call me if any of you need anything." The preacher was all smiles. "Just remember that she's gone to a better place."

Dean rolled his eyes and wondered how much trouble he'd get into if he punched the guy out. Sam must have thought the guy somewhat oily as well, as he wasn't looking too happy at the moment, his trademark scowl making an appearance.

Mr. Moore shook the man's hand. "Thank you, we really appreciate it."

The preacher left, following the paved road to where he'd parked his car ahead of the hearse. Dean figured it was the guy's lucky day because if he'd walked past him he would have been sorely tempted to do or say something.

"Sam, we're having some people over at Myra's house. You and your brother would be more than welcome to join us."

The muscle at Sam's jaw twitched, his Adam's apple rising and falling for a moment. Did they have to keep torturing him like this? "I…"

"I'm very sorry, but we can't." Dean pushed away from the Impala and came over. All four of them turned to look at him in surprise. "The family emergency that took Sam away…it's not over. Our Dad's still missing. We need to get back to trying to find him."

Mr. Moore's dark gaze turned to Sam showing even more shock. "Your father is missing? Why didn't you say something?"

Sam stared at the ground, his face coloring. "It, it just didn't seem all that important in comparison. I'm sure he's fine…"

Mrs. Moore detached herself from her sister, where she'd been hiding her face almost the entire time behind a lace handkerchief. "You must go find him. You must make sure. I'm positive he wants very much to see the two of you. He must be missing you terribly. You need to make sure he knows you're all right. It's very important."

Dean's brow went up. Either she was cracking up bad or she was horribly confused. Their father was missing, not them.

She then reached out and hugged his brother, looking tiny compared to Sam's six foot four height. His brother stiffened at the contact, his expression going neutral though his eyes suddenly shone with tears. Gingerly, almost as if he didn't think he had the right, Sam put his arms around her and returned the embrace. Dean wondered what the heck that was about.

Mr. Moore gently pried his wife away a couple of minutes later. "Do let us know when you find him. You'll keep in touch?"

Sam swallowed hard again then a touch of a smile curved his lips. "Of course."

Dean had seen the mask enough times during Sam's teenage years to know it for what it was. Sammy was only telling them what they wanted to hear, nothing more. Dean understood the need; he just wished it wasn't tearing his brother's guts out like he was sure it was.

The moment the Moores were in the limo and out of sight and Sam was safely tucked away within the confines of the Impala, his brother sighed a deep bone weary sigh and went limp in the seat. If his knees hadn't been up against the dash holding him up, he would have probably poured on down onto the floorboard like a pool of putty.

Dean stared at him for a minute, worry and pity washing around inside him, and though it took pretty much everything he had, he didn't say anything and turned the engine over instead. It was way past time they got the heck out of town.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"If we get a move on, we could probably be halfway to Blackwater Ridge before dark," Dean said. "Then we could find someplace to crash and get going again early."

Sam nodded only half listening. He loosened his tie, his brother having already divested himself of his and now busy unbuttoning his collar. Dean's jacket was draped over the chair by the door, the first thing to go. Sam sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the dark green carpeted floor. "Why did you tell them about Dad?"

"Uh, it seemed the easiest way to get you out of there?"

Sam shook his head not sure he deserved the mercy. He rubbed his hands over his face. Lord he felt tired. Just so damn _tired_. The numbness of the last few days was ebbing, but it just made his loss that much sharper, made him miss Jessica that much more.

What he'd give to be able to smell her lush scent again, to brush her saucy lips with his own, to hear her laugh, to hear her voice, to have her _back_.

"We don't have to today though, if you don't want…" Dean's tone was guarded, probing. Sam supposed he hadn't given his brother much to work with of late. He just wasn't all that sure what was right, what they should be doing -- if anything at all.

His cell phone rang. It was on the dresser, plugged into the charger. He was debating whether to get it or not, when Dean took the decision from him. He unplugged the charger and answered the cell.

Sam could feel a frown forming on his face, dreading the call might be more condolences from people he might not even know.

"Oh, sergeant! Nice hearing from you again." Dean's whole posture relaxed even though the caller couldn't possibly see him. It had to be a woman. "Yeah, he's hanging in there. Funeral was this morning."

Sam tried to think on why the cops would be calling him but his mind came up blank.

"Oh, okay. Thanks." Dean started pacing, but he still looked very laid back. "Appreciate you letting us know. I'll pass it on." His brother closed the cell phone and turned to face him, leaning on the dresser. His expression looked oddly cautious. "Sergeant Morales called. She wanted to let you know the apartment is no longer sealed off."

Sam felt his frown deepening. There was nothing for him there anymore. Jessica was gone.

"Guess we should stick around another day or two? See what you want to do with your stuff? Put it in storage or whatever. Maybe find a memento or two to take with us?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, the thought of seeing their place again, of having the fact thrown in his face once more of how empty of life it was, of having images of Jessica haunting every room yet knowing she would never step within them again, it was more than he could cope with. Just the thought of doing it sent an echoing ache through his head and heart, cold spurting through him as if wanting to eat him alive. He didn't want this.

"_No_." He shot to his feet. "I don't care about any of that stuff, all right? It means nothing to me anymore." He grabbed his duffle from the floor by the table rather than try to grab something from the dresser -- it would keep him from getting too close to his brother. His next words were clipped. "I'm going to change."

"Sammy, come on, what the hell?"

He rushed into the bathroom, slamming the door closed before his brother could say anything else. He stared at the knob for a moment, and though he would normally not have bothered, he locked it.

He half threw the duffle onto the toilet seat then opened it up, not really seeing the contents. He wouldn't go back, couldn't go back. Every last thing in that place would be a reminder of everything he'd lost – his future, his love, his hopes for a normal life.

Sam rummaged inside the bag looking for clothes by feel, not sure what was still in there and caring even less, when his hand ran across something hard. Pulling it out, he realized it was his Taurus PT99. He thought he'd put that back into the hidden compartment of the Impala's trunk when they were leaving Jericho. He shook his head. Dean must have snuck it back out and shoved it in his duffle. Guess his brother had suspected all along he might decide not to go with him to Blackridge when they finished off the Woman in White. It would be like Dean to make sure he didn't leave Sam without some form of protection.

His vision sharpened as he pulled out the gun and unwrapped it, every detail of the weapon jumping to his awareness. 9mm bullets in a seventeen capacity clip, five-inch barrel, shining stainless steel finish, six grooves, black rubber grips – death dealing beauty manufactured for your pleasure directly from Miami, Florida.

Sam set the Taurus down on the back of the toilet and sighed. The time for grieving was over. He needed to make decisions. He needed to figure out what he was going to do now.

Staying at Stanford and pretending everything was like it had always been was out of the question. He'd first come here for himself, to grow, to learn to be normal, to create a life outside of the supernatural. But Jess, Jess had changed everything. She had shown him how to _live_ -- how to _love_. She'd made everything so much more than he ever imagined it could be.

Now she was gone. And all that could have been had gone with her.

So what was left? What could he turn to? Spending his life trying to track down whatever had killed her?

What would be the point of doing that really? Their father had been looking for what killed his mother for the last twenty-two years, and what did he have to show for it? Absolutely _nothing_. So why should he expect to get any farther? Worse, did he really even want to? Two people connected to him had been killed in a horrid, grisly manner -- before his very eyes. Was it a ritual? Or a message, like he suspected? Could this second time maybe have been a trap instead? A message for his father instead of him. Perhaps he was supposed to have died in his bedroom, consumed by the fire, which if his brother hadn't interfered and pulled him out, would have more than likely been the result. So what was the point?

His gaze returned to the gun on the toilet and he found himself studying it with sudden intensity -- every bump, every grove imprinting itself in his mind.

If what was done to Jessica was a message, one for him, could he handle the knowledge of whatever it was trying to say? He'd been singled out. He didn't know why or for what. But if something from the supernatural world was involved, it couldn't be good. Yet it made no sense! There was nothing all that special about him. So what could some _thing_ possibly want from him? And if he didn't come to understand the cryptic message, would it try sending it again? Next time using his father, or worse, Dean for the ritual death? Would he be forced to watch as each member of his family was murdered as he struggled to understand a cipher for which he had no key?

Sam picked up the gun, the weight feeling intimately familiar in his hand though it'd been years since he'd handled one. It was scary really, how easily it had all come back to him. Being with Dean, doing the job, becoming part of that life again. The Winchesters lived outside the law – killed malevolent sentient beings without remorse or pity. Their duty was to save people, to protect them from the things in the dark. Yet he was inadvertently getting people killed too. Didn't that make him as evil and needing of eradication as any of those things out there? How many lives would be saved if he wasn't around to fulfill whatever reason or purpose these things had happened to him? He wouldn't hurt anymore… He wouldn't feel as if he'd been torn in two, not knowing if he was responsible for his mother's and lover's death or not. It would keep his brother and father out of whatever this was. There would be no more questions, no more doubts. And it would be so very easy…

Not thinking about it, Sam brought his hand up and placed the tip of the Taurus against his temple. A shiver ran through him as the cold metal touched his skin.

A minimal amount of pressure from his finger and it would be over. His brains would splatter all over the walls of the bathroom, creating a gruesome portrait of his agony, one that everyone could see, expressing everything he was unable to say or admit to.

A loud banging on the door made him jump, almost twitching his finger on the trigger.

"Hey, slowpoke! I gotta _go_. Hurry up in there, will you, Sammy?"

Dean… Sam's chest tightened as he turned toward the door, his breath rasping quickly in and out. He'd forgotten about Dean… He would hear the shot. He would kick the door in and find him dead -- without a word, without explanation, betraying his brother again for his own needs like he had two years before.

A single tear gathered and dropped down his cheek as his right eye twitched. The hand with the gun slowly lowered.

He couldn't do that to his brother again. He couldn't leave him the gift of bitter grief and guilt Sam was contending with now. His brother would blame himself; Sam knew he would. Just like he had about everything that had ever gone wrong in Sam's life before, whether it was truly his fault or not. He just couldn't do that to his brother – not to Dean -- not again.

Sam shoved the Taurus back into the duffle, the sight of it after what he'd almost done making his stomach churn. When had he lost so much control? He sat down on the edge of the tub feeling feverish, then moved the hair away from his face no longer sure of who he was.

What would Dean do? Would his brother risk giving whatever killed their mother the satisfaction of just giving up and ending it all? Like hell he would! If there was one thing his brother was was stubborn. So why should he do any less than his brother? Problem was he had no idea what was right, what was wrong. _He didn't know_. But Dean, Dean always knew. He fixated on one idea, one goal and threw all the passion in him at it. Maybe that was what Sam needed -- direction, focus, a goal. But what?

His gaze raked over the open duffel as if it might supply him with an answer and caught a glint of something else inside that didn't look like it should be there. He reached for it, his mind seeking any distraction from his problems. He frowned, for a moment doubting what he'd found. It was the family picture, the one of his father and mother. The one Dean had given him on that horrid day four years ago, when he left home. The single tie to his family he'd allowed himself for the last two. It had been in the apartment, in the front room where he always kept it. Dean must have grabbed it when they were there, knowing he'd want it or need it again.

Then something new occurred to him -- something about his brother, something that suddenly made him stare in wonder at the closed door and the man he knew stood beyond it, waiting for him -- the one who never needed help, who could do anything alone, yet who'd come to him anyway to ask for his help, help in finding their father.

Sam looked down at the picture in his hands again and caressed his mother's face, then stared at his Dad's. They hadn't found their father in Jericho. All they'd come across was a possible lead on where he might have gone. Yet his own troubles had kept Dean from following up on it. Hell, his desires had almost forced his brother to go at it alone, despite the fact he'd come and asked Sam for his aid, whether he really needed it or not. But the Winchesters took care of their own, didn't they? And right now Dean needed him, his father needed him. He couldn't let them down, not like he had Jessica.

And it was just possible his father might have answers, too. Answers Sam needed desperately -- for if all this was somehow connected to him, someone had to have made it be that way. And that was the monster who was at fault for everything. That was the one who should be made to pay. Not his brother, not his father, not him.

Sparks of anger and hate welled within him, feelings that for the first time that week weren't directed at himself. He grabbed hold of them, fanned them, and kept them close.

If anyone could make anything out of this mess, it would be their father. He was a hunter through and through. It was very possible that Jessica's murder would shed some light on the madness of these last twenty years once they were able to tell him about it. Her death needed meaning. Sam didn't want hers to be just some random, senseless death like hundreds or thousands of others. He would find out the truth, he owed her that much. So he would help Dean, he would help their father. He would deal with his guilt and everything else only once he got that far.

Sam stood up, for the first time in the last five days feeling some semblance of balance, of direction. He placed the picture back inside the duffel and changed. When he was done, he yanked the bathroom door open only to catch Dean about to knock on it again. His brother took a step back in surprise, his gaze roaming over him, his growing worry written all over his face. Dean had already changed to jeans and a grey shirt, his broken in leather jacket on.

Sam's chest tightened some more and he swallowed hard, seeing his concerned brother standing there affirming in his heart that he was doing the right thing. Keeping his gaze averted as his eyes prickled with tears, he grabbed Dean by the jacket as he walked by, pulling his brother after him. "Come on. Let's get that stuff done so we can blow this town and go find Dad."

He saw Dean's expression clear of worry from the corner of his eye, a half grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah, let's!"

Sam felt his own concerns diminishing as well. Together they were stronger. Together they would get through this. Just as they'd always done before.

The hunt was on.

The End

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Notes: Thanks tons to Kaz2y567i for beta'ing this story for consistency and whatnot, but especially for helping brainstorm Chapter 13, which was the hardest of the lot. (And hopefully came out okay in the end! Eek!)

If you enjoyed this fic, tell ALL YOUR FRIENDS AND NEIGHBORS:P Lol. With 12K stories for Supernatural alone, this sucker will be buried deeper than a pirate's treasure in no time. (Just kidding though, please don't feel you have to do anything! I am just grateful you spent the time to read it in the first place!)

So my hat off to you…and…

THANKS!!!!!!!!!


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